
BookJi 




I 




mint iSJjatlie: 



A MEMORIAL 



By his father. 




CAMBRIDGE: 

PRINTED AT THE RIVERSIDE PRESS. 

1863. 



377 




Ti) 



-bO 



ifi oL» 



-^x 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, 

By C. Thurber, 

in the Clerk's OflBce of the District Court for the Southern District of New York 



3 ^ A ^ 



RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: 
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY H. 0. HOUGHTON. 



JDtnicsitstj 

TO 

Mrs. CAROLINE ESTEY THURBER, 

THE MOTHER OF "OUR CHARLIE," 
BY HER 

AFFECTIONATE HUSBAND. 



PREFACE. 



This volume owes its origin to the death of my 
only beloved son Charles Thurber, Junior. He 
died August 5, 1861, at the age of five years and 
seven months. The frontispiece presents a faithful 
likeness of him. 

He was a boy of unusual promise and sweet- 
ness of disposition. His biography is very brief, and 
I have tried that what I say of him shall not be 
mere panegyric and the creation of parental parti- 
ality. 

I have given the title of "Our Charlie " to the 
book, that it might be a memorial of my boy, and 
because from him as from the seed the work ger- 
minated. 

The death of childi^en seems, pnm^:? facie, unnat- 
ural. On mature reflection, it seems eminently natu- 
ral. The analogy pervades all nature. In so far as 
the unnaturalness of death consists in takino; the 



VI PREFA CE. 

living away in the progress of development and use- 
fulness, it pervades all ages. 

We can find reasons more or less satisfactory why 
God should take away the living, but none that seem 
to serve as a law by which He acts. His sovereign 
will seems to be the only law. This ought to satisfy 
us. We may be sure that it is a perfectly wise, 
just, and benevolent rule of action. 

The stories in the first part of the book are all 
facts. Of most of them I have personal knowledge, 
— many of them I have heard related by parties 
interested ; some of them I have read in the papers, 
and one, " The Artist and his Ideals," is founded on 
an old story. 

I have taken no liberties with the main facts, but 
have dressed them up in my own language and sup- 
jjlied what seemed to be the natural links in the 
chain of events. 

I have gone to fact, rather than fiction, because, 
although truth may be illustrated as well and some- 
times better by the latter than by the former, I 
think the afilicted find illustrations from the former 
far more impressive than from the latter. 



PEE FA CE. vii 

In the latter part of the book will be found the 
reflections to which the sad event has directed my 
mind. I think they have been beneficial to me, and 
that I have found in them many sources of comfort 
and profit. Perhaps some of my readers may find 
their own hearts in sympathy with them and find 
comfort and profit also. The speculations, not to call 
them views, of spiritual things may not commend 
themselves to all my readers, but I cannot avoid 
thinking them somewhat natural and not wholly 
erroneous. 

The anecdotes and incidents of Charlie mio-ht have 
been placed by themselves, but I preferred to place 
them in the order in which they suggested themselves 
to my mind. 

The book is not published. It is printed for pri- 
vate distribution. It is not for sale. It is not to 
take its place with the literature of the day. It is 
a memorial of my beloved son. It is to show others 
my som'ces of consolation in the midst of affliction. 
It is to be given to relatives and friends and such 
others as I may happen to know fi^om time to time 
who have passed through the deep waters and may 
be supposed to be in sympathy with the subject. 



vm PREFACE. 

I should tremble to publish this volume. I clo 

not tremble to put it into the hands of the afflicted. 

,If, as an intellectual effort, it is rejected, as the 

outgush of a wounded heart, I am sure it will be 

respected. 

CHARLES THURBER. 

Brooklyn, N. F., June, 1863. 



CONTENTS. 



— • — 

PAGE 

PART FIRST ..... . . ■ . .1 

Do Spirits visit Earth? 20 

Death seldom comes at the Right Time . . .21 

The Young Student 22 

The Statesman and Christian . . . . .25 

The Widow's Son . . . .... 28 

The Only Son . . . . . . . . .31 

No STRANGER THAT THE YoUNG DIE THAN THE OlD 41 

The Old Sage ..... . . . 41 

The Aged Divine . . . . . . . ,43 

Gallery at the Vatican . . . . . . 44 

Rescue Of the Idiot Boy .... . .46 

The Missionary ..... . . . 48 

The Young Hera:ld ... . . . .53 

The Happy Family . . . . . . . 57 

The Rich and Poor Boy .... . .61 

The Artist and his Ideal . . . . . 67 

Death seldom comes at the Right Time . , 75 

The Sailor 76 

The Inventor . 82 

The Right Time to Die . . . . . . 87 

The Little Martyr .... . . .89 



X CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Two Brothers .95 

The Little Genius 101 

The Only Son . .106 

Benefit of Afflictions 109 

The Merchant 112 

The Pastor 120 

The Happy Family . 132 

The English Family ....... 142 

The Genial Christian 153 

The Young Patriot 157 



PART SECOND 165 

Why should the Young die? 166 

The New Song 185 

Each New-born Spirit appears at the Right Time 186 
Each has his Mission even in Heaven . . .188 

Heavp:n's Revealings 190 

Each finds his proper Place in Heaven . . 192 
Do the Spirits of the departed ones visit us here? 194 

Heaven 199 

Why was he taken? . . . . . . . 205 

How God afflicts 220 

Faith , . .236 

The Past 249 

Tears 251 

Sabbath-school Incident 254 

Incident 258 

Charlie at the Communion 260 

Charlie at St. Peter's 264 

Where is Heaven? 267 



CONTENTS, XI 

PAGH 

Studies of Heaven 272 

Is IT A Blessing to have had such a Boy and then 

LOST him ? 291 

The Blessing 292 

Fruits of Affliction 296 

Do Spirits visit us here ? 298 

All Mysteries explained in Heaven . . . 305 

Stay in London 310 

Paris 316 

The Voyage 319 

The Return 324 

Doubts 329 

The Prayer 336 

What is a Spirit? ^37 

How does a Spirit look? 341 

Life never ends 344 

The Christian's Patmos 346 

The Pure in Heart live on the very Confines of 

Heaven 348 

Upon what Missions do Spirits visit Earth? and 

how do they discharge them ? . . . 349 

Worcester 354 

Death • . . . . 357 

The Grandmothers 363 

Our Physician 36 7 

The volunteer Watcher 370 

The Funeral 3 72 

The Conclusion . . 375 



OUR CHARLIE. 



PART FIRST. 



OUR CHARLIE 



PART FIRST. 

"ITT HERE is the home, where is the sweet retreat, 
' Where some fond bosom has not ceased to beat? 
Where their gay feasts are not less rich and rare, 
Because the feasters see some vacant chair ? 
Where their fond bosoms do not feel a smart 
At the sad absence of a lovino; heart ? 
Such homes must be, if they are ever seen. 
Like angels' visits, — few and far between. 

" All men must die " has never been denied 
Since Adam lived and the first martyr died ; 
Yet the word " mystery " drops from every tongue. 
Whene'er our loved ones droop and perish young ; 
And though earth's babes scarce entering on their 

years 
Fill more than half of earth's funereal biers, 
When fond affection is compelled to part 
With some sweet nursling idoled in its heart. 
It sits down sad with many a tear and sigh. 
And says. How strange our little ones should die ! 
1 



2 OUR CHARLIE. 

When Love bends o'er its little cherub boy, 

All lit with hope and brimming o'er with joy, 

And, breathless, watches every day and hour 

Each new-born gush of loveliness and power. 

And daily sees, as fond Affection can. 

The first young kindlings of the coming man, 

And deems these proofs as plain as aught can give, 

That the dear idol of its heart will live ; 

And as these proofs before its fancy play. 

And each grows stronger each succeeding day, 

Though thousands fall as young and bright and fair, 

' Tis manhood's signet has its impress there. 

But lo ! he droops, and Love, that could not save. 

Bends o'er and wets the little hero's grave. 

And shrieks aloud with sorrow's shrillest cry, — 

Strange that a boy as sweet as ours should die. 

Strange that a bud that has the magic power. 
While yet a bud, to deck its native bower. 
Should, ere one petal shows us half its charms. 
Fade like a vision in Affection's arms. 
And full of perfume, waste its rosy breath 
In the damp, fetid charnel-house of death. 

Strange that a being of mysterious birth. 
Sent on its mission to this checkered earth. 
Whose fresh young spirit in its earliest spring 



OUR CHARLIE. 

Shows 'tis a godlike and mysterious thing, 
Before it pHes its wondrous powers and arts, 
Except in sporting or enchanting hearts, 
Should, like a dew-drop 'neath a scorching sky, 
Melt and mount upward to its home on high. 

Some years ago, one cold December day, 
A little stranger came along our way, 
And, of all places on this good round earth, 
Beorored for admission to our home and hearth, 
And, quick as lightning through yon azure darts. 
We took him in and shrined him in our hearts. 
He was a stranger whom we'd never seen. 
But yet we gladly took the stranger in ; 
The mild blue eyes that shot their beams about, 
Showed the sweet spirit that was looking out ; 
The spacious head and high arched brow bespoke 
The dread machinery of a soul new woke. 
O ! day by day we watched with purest joy 
The young revealings of that little boy. 
Affection tender as an angel's filled 
Its little heart and every other thrilled; 
Its gentle spirit, if it flashed, was brought 
Mild as a lamb's at one calm hint from thought ; 
And though e'en prouder than a lord or earl. 
At being a boy instead of being a girl. 
Yet not the purest and most charming miss 



4 OUR CHARLIE. 

E'er gave a sweeter or a heartier kiss. 

His manly manners, manly looks and airs, 

And business ways of aping man's aft'airs ; 

His wise remarks, precocious thoughts and views, 

And reasonings often such as sages use ; — 

All these things told us, with a prophet tongue. 

That so much promise could not perish young. 

O manly boy ! yet tender, sweet, and mild. 

The hero almost, yet the trusting child ; 

The little traveller gathering up the lore 

Of his own land and many a foreign shore ; 

The little linguist, who, without alloy, 

Could gibber French like any Gallic boy ; 

Who talked of Paris, Florence, London, Rome, 

Familiar almost as of home, sweet home ! 

And with his blocks made coliseums stand, 

And reared St. Peter's with his cunning hand ; 

And talked of strolls through London parks so green. 

Where rode the princes, princesses, and queen ; 

And how, in Paris, our p^o tempore home. 

He went with Helen and his nurse to roam 

Through parks and gardens, the most charming ones, 

Brimful of children with their white -capped bonnes; 

And how at Florence he was wont to rove 

That gay Cascine that a nymph might love. 

And thread the walks of Boboli's j^^r^erre. 



OUR CHARLIE. 5 

Or Pitti Palace midst tlie wonders there ; 

And how at Rome, at old imperial Rome, 

He walked St. Peter's 'neath its lofty dome, 

Saw coliseums with their huge high walls. 

Old ruined temples, columns, arches, halls ; 

And where he oft drank gladness to the fill, 

'Midst walks and flowers upon the Pincian Hill, 

Where the ^lite from earth's remotest bounds 

Walk in gay groups all o'er the fairy grounds ; 

And often saw, upon its flowery slope. 

The gaudy Cardinals and the poor old Pope ; 

And how, at Naples, roving day by day. 

He saw the beauties of that charming bay; 

Or walked Pompeii's ancient streets exhumed. 

Which twenty centuries almost had entombed ; 

Or saw Vesuvius, black with lava strown. 

Throw sulphurous smoke up fi'om its swelling cone ; 

Or saw, when night wrapped all in gloom below. 

Her spacious sea of red hot lava glow. 

O blessed boy, who all these gems had shrined 
Within the memory for his opening mind : 
The little floAverets clipped by childhood's knife. 
To strew the pathway of his future life. 

O ! as we watched his first expanchng thought. 
Out of the lore of rich experience wrought, 



6 OUR CHARLIE. 

And saw liis mind, far, far beyond his years, 
By his own skill forge almost man's ideas, 
And how his heart breathed sweeter every hour. 
As fields and gardens with each new-blown flower ! 
And then we thought, indeed we seemed to know. 
That Charlie had a mission here below ; 
And from the way that mission had begun, 
We fondly thought 'twould be no common one. 

When five short years, and seven fleet months beside. 
Had rolled away, the little fellow died ; 
Died, while the buds of intellectual power 
Were forming, swelling, opening, every hour ; 
Died, while his heart, e'en in a world like this, 
Was gathering honey for a feast of bliss ; 
Died when, poor boy, he daily seemed to give 
New proofs and promise he would surely live. 

Then we bent down above his little bier. 
And wet his grave with sorrow's gushing tear, 
And said, alas ! with many a tear and sigh, 
O ! 'tis a mystery such a boy should die ! 

When Spring steps forth, and with inspiring breath. 
Bursts the sere pall of Nature's wintry death. 
And herb and tree start gayly up, and fling 
Their sweetest offerings in the lap of Spring : 



OUR CHARLIE. 'i 

The leafless orchards with their naked brows 
First string their leaflets on their Gothic boughs, 
Then in the train gay Flora brings her gems, 
With lavish kindness for the countless stems, — 
Go to that orchard clad in beauty now. 
And count the blossoms on the smallest bough. 
When Winter shaking all her clouds of snow 
In fleecy showers upon chill earth below. 
Though every flake should on the branches light, 
That fruit-tree could not be more gay and white. 
O ! one as well might rove by yonder sea, 
And count the sands as blossoms on that tree. 
But go when Autumn, with her yellow foot. 
Calls from that bloom the ruddy ripened fruit. 
One moment's eftbrt will suflice to show 
How many apples on the branches grow, 
And 'twill appear that most of all that bloom 
Went to the silence of an early tomb. 
But very few within that lovely bower 
Beached, in life's course, the manhood of a flower. 

How few the flowers of Flora's royal blood 
Have reared their offspring farther than the bud I 
Though fiill of beauty, full of sweet perfume, 
They pass unopened to the fetid tomb. 
Or if they burst and throw their beauties out. 
And sweetly breathe upon the bowers al)out, 



8 OUR CHARLIE. 

Earth, sea, and air, brimful of fiendisli foes, 
Crush more than half with their unfriendly blows, 
And few there are, just like their masters, men, 
That reach a floweret's threescore years and ten. 

How grand the schemes ambitious mortals lay. 
And yet how poor the several parts they play ! 
Like earth's cathedrals, we can find scarce one, 
On which is carved the magic motto " Done." 
That " di'eam of beauty," decking Milan's street, 
Will reel and tumble ere 'tis quite complete ; 
And that huge pile, the magic of Cologne, 
Will fall, ere Art has laid the topmost stone ; 
And human progress, while in mid career. 
Will join the crash of this terraqueous sphere. 

The studious sage, charged high with learning's lore. 

And all inspired to go and gather more, 

Spares no expense, no labor, pains, or toil. 

And lights up research with the midnight oil. 

And when the spade, thrust in the cumbrous mould, 

Strikes on a vein of purest virgin gold. 

And but a few poor worthless spades-full more 

Must be removed to reach the virgin ore. 

The insatiate archer, with malicious thrust. 

Strikes down the sage to mix in vulgar dust. 

The spade drops down, the chasm disappears, 



OUR CHARLIE. 9 

Filled with the debris of succeeding years, 
And " labor lost " is chiselled on the stones 
That mark the pillow of his crumbling bones, 
And ages more must send the sage again, 
Who'll ope the chasm and work the virgin vein. 

Invention, looking with a prescient eye, 
Sees unformed magic all in embryo lie ; 
And thouo;h gavint want stand frownino; at the 

door. 
And toil and hardship hedge the way before, 
And lordly wealth, to princely fortune born. 
Points its gemmed finger with disdain and scorn. 
It toils and toils in w^ant, neglect, and pain, 
Encouraged, thwarted, yet resolved again, 
Till just as it has bidden doubts " Good-night," 
And formed and grouped the magic agents right, 
And there is now but just one day between 
The imperfect model and complete machine. 
And earth's applause almost begins to start, 
And fill the inventor's long, long burdened heart. 
The load of ills, 'neath which he's staggered so. 
Deals its dark work and lays the victim low. 
He reels, he falls, and as he gasps and dies, 
With his last grasp unloosing from the prize, 
The wise, wise world declares it and believes, 
" How little, useful, genius e'er achieves." 



10 OUR CHARLIE. 

Some lucky wiglit who saw the victim reel, 
And the last blow that he designed to deal, 
Just strikes that blow, the magic to evoke, 
And genius' dream stands marshalled from the stroke. 
The chance-made genius, more than hero now. 
Wears the bright wreath meant for another's brow. 

In fortune's race, though all contend and run, 
O ! by how few the glittering prize is won ! 
Rags flaunt and flutter o'er the rolling globe. 
Ten thousand times to one e'en decent robe ; 
And if one, ever upon land or wave. 
Gained all he hoped and all he wished to have, 
He must have been, if not a mythic thing. 
Some richer rich man than the Lydian king. 
Hopes crushed in myriads perish at the root. 
To one bright hope that blossoms into fruit. 

In yonder wood, the scene of many a chase. 

Young saplings start up of surpassing grace. 

O ! when they've grown up high and broad as these. 

Those that come here will see unblemished trees. 

And this green wood, now shapeless and defaced, 

Will be a scene of faultless Gothic taste. 

Alas ! the world, when this old wood was young, 

The siren song that we are singing, sung ; 

The saplings then were like the saplings now. 



OUR CHARLIE. 11 

Without a blemish in a hmb or bough. 
But thousands, when but tender nurshngs, died, 
As many maimed or ruined at their side ; 
And these old trees that now the forest deck 
Are all that really have survived the wreck. 
And of all these that in this maze we see, 
Not one old veteran is a perfect tree. 
And tortuous shrubs in every tangled nook 
Give to the graceful many an ugly crook ; 
As a fair boy, sweet, lovely, beauteous, mild, 
Grows a rough man, unlovely, wicked, wild. 
So th^se young plants, symmetric as can be. 
Are dead or manned, or such as these we see. 

There's nothing here that has the skill or power 
To make life certain for a single hour. 
Nor has the potence to detain one breath. 
That stands between it and the monster, death. 
Though toward success the wisest project speeds, 
It oftener stops or stumbles than succeeds ; 
And beauty's germs will, into being warmed, 
Oft die or grow up ugly and deformed. 

The matchless diamond in the womb of earth, 
Must pass along through centuries to its birth, 
Yet for each gem in all its charms arrayed. 
Unnumbered perish by the hoe and spade ; 



12 OUR CHARLIE. 

And unknown thousands, to perfection brought, 
Lie in the earth unvalued and unsought. 
And, when earth dies, within her hills and moors, 
There'll sleep unnumbered unformed Koh-i-noors. 
Earth, meant to till, and be at length subdued, 
Will melt at last, half sterile, rough, and rude. 

'Twas meant that skill should train our fruits and 

flowers, 
To rival those that grow in heavenly bowers ; 
Yet skill, when striving to her latest bloAV, 
Will ne'er plant gardens such as Heaven's below. 
Progress on earth, however swiftly driven. 
Will ne'er reach half way to the gates of heaven ; 
The prancing steeds that draw her chariot fret. 
And lose much time in many a gay curvet; 
And although upward is their general bent. 
The path oft suffers an abrupt descent. 
Exhumed creations, daily brought to view. 
Show men have done what moderns cannot do ; 
And as in rocks, as plain as Saxon words, 
We read of known and unknown beasts and birds. 
So midst the debris of old time we sit. 
And see " lost arts " all o'er the rubbish writ. 

Invention never gives us something new. 
Till we've some mission for the thing to do ; 



OUR CHARLIE. 13 

Want goes ahead, and wit behind it hies, 
And brings the rear up with its fresh suppUes. 
In Eden's ground, a Fulton with his steam 
Had found its mission useless as a dream ; 
And all earth's navies, were they all afloat. 
Had been as useless as a schoolboy's boat, 
Had Galileo, with capacious soul, 
Ne'er made the needle show the unseen pole ; 
And the fierce Congos, with a hearty laugh. 
Would hail the approach of Morse's telegraph ; 
Though it were stretched around earth's broad do- 
main. 
Till it should enter Congo's fields again. 
No friend would e'er send greeting to, a friend, 
Nor merchant have one short dispatch to send. 

Hard, earnest labor is the price we pay 
For every inch of Progress' upward way ; 
Rest but an instant, and the cortege stops, — 
Her horses falter, and the chariot drops. 
And not till man gives labor heart and brain, 
Will Progress ever rise aloft again. 

Peace reigns, and labor pHes its meny blows. 
And Progress upward like an eagle goes ; 
War marches forward with an ano-rv frown, 
Toil stops, and Progress drives its chariot down ; 



14 OUR CHARLIE, 

War spends its wrath and labor works amain, 
And then the chariot mounts aloft aa;ain. 
Ah, casualties, too great to number, play 
In Progress' track, and block the upward way : 
Half of man's powers at every fresh attack 
Must lose much time in clearino- off the track. 
Old Ocean is not, of all things below. 
The sole creation made to ebb and flow : 
Earth's history has, down from its earliest age, 
Mutation written upon every page. 

When man grows perfect, Progress will arise, 
And both together be in Paradise ; 
Because, when man has to perfection striven. 
That place must be, where'er it is, a heaven ; 
But as perfection ne'er existed here. 
Progress must stop e'en while in mid career. 

Each moral plant, though nurtured here in love, 
Will bear its blossoms and its fruits above ; 
We catch some glimpses oftentimes below 
Of charms to come when they shall ope and blow, 
And oft a foretaste of that fruit is given. 
That we shall eat if we e'er mount to heaven ; 
But the full harvest of the fruits and flowers 
Can ne'er, this side of Paradise, be ours. 



OUR CHARLIE. 15 

Our olive plants, tliat in our homesteads grow, 
And make them almost Edens here below, 
Bear fruits enough to fill them full of love, 
But the ripe fruit grows nowhere but above. 

Earth's but the nursery from whose verdant grove 
The plants spring up to set in fields above, 
And life's the school where young immortals come, 
And train their hearts for their unending home ; 
And if prepared before ourselves to go. 
Could we detain them one short houi* below^ ? 

God's plans are countless, yet they smoothly run. 

And twine themselves in one harmonious one, — 

Forever twining, never wholly twined, 

'Tis perfect only in the omniscient mind. 

The noblest life, the noblest ever spent. 

Is but a thread for that grand purpose meant. 

The hearty patriot sees the foeman stand, 

And threat destruction to his native land; 

His swelling bosom frill to bursting nigh. 

He girds his sword upon his manly thigh ; 

And while his spirit burning high insj^ires 

His gathering hosts with kindred hopes and fires. 

He leads them on with heart that will not quail, 

Amidst the screaming of the leaden hail. 

O ! God will shield him, God will spare the brave, 



16 OUR CHARLIE. 

Nor let young hope go bleeding to the grave ! 

'Tis but for freedom, but for human rights, 

For all that's sacred that the hero fights. 

On, warriors, on ; rush to the combat now. 

And victory's wreaths shall deck the victor's brow ; 

Raise high the standard, let the banners wave ; 

O ! rush to victory or the martyr's grave. 

The grave, — O, yes, the gallant hero reels, 
And Lyon falls beneath his horse's heels, — 
Falls while the banner to the breeze is flung. 
Falls while the war-shout lingers on his tongue. 
O ! how it made the patriot's life-blood chill. 
When martyred Warren fell on Bunker Hill ; 
And how each good heart throbbed the funeral knell. 
When Winthrop bled and gallant Baker fell ! 
And thousands, thousands in our country's fight, 
For Justice, Union, Liberty, and Right, 
Fall ere the prize for which they fight is won. 
Fall when their mission has but just begun. 
Fall while the Nation, looking at the brave, 
Feel they're the ones that Heaven has sent to save. 

A little being of mysterious birth. 
Pure as a dew-drop, comes to visit earth ; 
With eager haste, the little foundling's pressed. 
Among the down of fond Affection's breast. 



OUR CHARLIE. 17 

And bonds of love too strong for aught to part 

Twine in an instant every throbbing heart. 

Ha ! manhood's stamped, not indistinct and dim, 

On every feature, Uneament, and Kmb, 

And through those eyes that timid look about, 

The new-waked soul is slyly looking out. 

And with a power and majesty unseen, 

It sets in play the marvellous machine. 

At first Qiiere play, and then the mimic strife, 

Made by mere fancy aping genuine life. 

In each new feat, new skill and potence lurk. 

The pleasant transit out of play to work. 

Ah, little one, God surely has for you i 

Some lofty mission in this world to do ; 

He is too wdse to send a sage below, 

And smite before he strikes one earnest blow, 

And far too good to crush a noble boy. 

Just entering o'er the threshold of employ. 

But Charlie dies ; the little hero falls ; 

The One that sent him to the earth recalls. 

Heaven has another ransomed one to bless, 

And home, our home, one little cherub less ; 

And that high mission to our Charlie given 

Is so divhie, it must be done in heaven. 

Were man omniscient, seeing near and far. 
And found in Nature one discordant jar, 
2 



18 OUR CHARLIE. 

Well might lie boldly, proudly, walk abroad, 
And play stem critic of the works of God. 

Till we can trace our little martyr's doom, 

Forever onward, e'en beyond the tomb. 

And find how much life's fleetness here below 

Affects the future of his weal or woe, 

'Twere worse than folly, worse than impious even, 

To say, '' 'Tis strange," of any act of Heaven. 

The very thought implies a lack of trust. 

And that we almost think kind Heaven unjust. 

If, like chastising, as the Hebrew sung, 

'Tis God's " strange work," this cutting down our 

young, 
'Tis passing strange, this self-same feature lurks 
In all God's actions and through all his works ; 
And either God is wicked and unwise. 
Or finite optics are our mortal eyes. 
And of all demons he would be the worst, 
Who dares to say the truthful is the first. 

O ! when promoted to the school above. 
Where the Great Teacher is the God of love, 
All seeming jars that sound so harshly here 
Will be all harmony in a ransomed ear ; 
All seeming wrong, illumed by heavenly light, 



OUR CHARLIE. 19 

Will prove the essence of the true and right ; 
Oui' little ones, snatched fi^om a mother's care 
In all their beauty, are more beauteous there, 
And, although severed to their new employ. 
Act loftier parts in that pure world of joy. 
And though they seem an injury to sustain. 
Death in life's morning brings a world of gain. 

Come, faith, pure envoy, to this world below. 

The heaven of rest to mortal eyes to show, 

O ! let the truth upon our hearts be graven. 

That our lost Charlie is at home in heaven ; 

That God knows well what moment would be best, 

To call his dear ones to be loved and blest. 

And though the tear will oft imbidden start. 

And sighs come bursting from the aching heart. 

Let us thank God that when our dear ones die. 

Relief comes gushing in a tear or sigh. 

And that life's path, though ending soon or late. 

Is long enough to reach the pearly gate. 

And sundered ties, though seeming formed in vain, 

Are sure hereafter to reknit again. 

O I Charlie, Charlie ! thy sweet image yet 
Lives in our hearts too vivid to forget. 
And ne'er will fade till life itself departs. 
And thou, once more, art nestUng in our hearts. 



20 OUR CHARLIE. 

'Tis sweet to think, dear, darling little boy, 
That thou'rt a cherub in that home of joy ; 
Yet, midst that sweetness, shoot the pangs of woe. 
To think we're lingering without thee below ; 
And then we bid the gushing tear-drops sleep. 
And end it all by sitting down to weep. 

Dear httle boy ! when thou wast here below. 
Thy heart with sweetness used to overflow. 
And, like a rose, send its aroma round. 
To every heart within its magic ground ; 
And it must be, that, planted up above. 
Your spotless bosom must o'erflow with love. 



DO SPIRITS VISIT EARTH? 

Do little spirits in your upper sphere, 
E'er come to earth and visit loved ones here ? 
We've sometimes thought a little fairy thing 
Was hovering o'er us with its outspread wing. 
And while it poised on sparkling wings above. 
Dropped down some honey of o'erfl owing love. 
Then we felt pure, and then we harbored not 
One impure feeling or unhallowed thought ; 
And had grim death at that sweet moment come, 
He had been welcome to our pleasant home. 



OUR CHARLIE. 21 

Was Charlie there ? We've asked the question oft, 
And then our hearts in gladness rose aloft ; 
Earth then seamed nothing but the eyry given, 
Where spirits stop to plume their wings for heaven. 

O ! if pure spirits from heaven's realms depart, 
'Tis on some errand to the pure in heart ; 
They ne'er hold converse in the realms below. 
But with the pure or panting to be so. 

When Charlie lived, it made him doubly blest. 

To sit and nestle in a parent's breast ; 

He only knew those pillows were his own ; 

He read that truth, and read that truth alone. 

God grant he loves them as he did before. 

Now that he reads them to the very core ; 

Then will his loss, that filled our souls with pain. 

Prove both our present and eternal gain. 

And we shall have some thrills of heavenly jov, 

From converse sometimes with our darling bov. 



DEATH SELDOM COMES AT THE RIGHT TIME. 

'Tis very hard when, with a tearful eye. 
We have to stand and see our darlings die ; 
And harder yet to lay their little heads 



22 OUR CHARLIE. 

'Neath the green velvet of their mouldering beds ; 

But bitterest woe when we, home's threshold, cross, 

And in di-ead earnest feel the bitter loss ; 

The widowed heart, all smarting 'neath the rod. 

Can't feel the wisdom of an all-wise God, 

And half thinks somehow 'tis injustice done, 

Both to home's circle and its little one. 

Alas ! alas ! in every age and clime, 
Death comes but seldom at the proper time ; 
Too soon to meet the trembling victim's views, 
The monster comes with his unwelcome news. 
If it seem strange God takes away our young. 
Just as life's banner to the breeze is flung. 
Or when, perhaps, the little hero's blows 
Begin to play on Progress' stubborn foes. 
Just armed, equipped, and fitted for the strife 
Man always finds in the rough path of life ; 
If it seem strange, mysterious, or unjust, 
That dust so early should return to dust, — 
The same three words with equal truth apply 
To all that die, and whensoe'er they die. 

THE YOUNG STUDENT. 

He was a boy, — I knew him well, whilom, — 
A fair, young hope-bud in the bowers of home ; 



OUR CHARLIE, 23 

Among the group that filled the sweet parterre^ 

He was the sweetest of the blossoms there ; 

Mild as the blue of yonder cloudless sky, 

The soul looked laughing from his beaming eye, 

Or if sometimes, beneath the aubui'n lash, 

The soul looked outward with an angry flash, 

The storm soon hushed, the rainbow spanned the 

plain, 
And the clear sky spread out its blue again. 

His mind, capacious, vigorous, clear, and strong, 
Saw truth and grasped it in the way along. 
With his keen wit shot folly as it flew, 
And caught at error where the rank weeds grew ; 
Then, with the game well basted and well done. 
He gave his friends a generous feast of fan ; 
And ail within his sphere of fr'iendship found 
Felt happier far when Warren was around. 

At length, a youth, he hasted to explore 
The pure, rich fields of Greek and Roman lore. 
And pluck the fruits the goddess Learning yields. 
On the broad acres of her charmmg fields. 

At length, a student, he began to rove 
Within his honored Alma Mater's grove. 
And then, dear fellow, almost at the start. 



24 OUR CHARLIE. 

The Saviour came, and touclied his generous heart. 
His soul was full, his bosom leaped with love, 
And his glad spirit meekly looked above, 
And then we thought of nothing else to add. 
For all he wanted in the world he had; 
Then life seemed nothing with its witching scenes, 
Weighed as an end against it as a means, 
And all earth's luxuries were but pauper food. 
Compared with that which comes from doing good. 

O ! what high hopes were centred in that boy ! 
What buds of promise and what germs of joy ! 
All loved that met him, all admired that knew, 
And all felt sure he'd some good work to do. 
And all prophetic felt 'twas very plain. 
That so much promise was not given in vain. 

O ! how devout the scholar used to rove. 

In thought profound, his Alma Mater's grove ; 

And while he dug for Learning's classic ore. 

He went to Calvary for its holier lore. 

And mind and heart in sweetest harmony grew, 

And linked in beauty all he felt and knew. 

And truth and goodness lent the sword and shield 

To their young champion, soon to take the field. 

But lo ! he died, — died like a new-lit star ; 

Died, while yet arming for the coming war; 



OUR CHARLIE. 25 

Died, while hope's sun shone brightest in its sphere ; 
Died, while all thought he had a mission here ; 
Died, while encircled in the arms of love. 
Promoted to a hio:her school above. 

How strange ! love deemed it when the dear youth 

died ; 
Love prayed in faith, but found the prayer denied; 
Skill tried its best from Science' healing store. 
And friendship nursed, till it could do no more. 
He died, and all said, with a tear and sigh, 
How strange it seemed that such a youth should 

die! 

THE STATESMAN AND CHRISTIAN. 

There was a boy, and God had cast his lot, 

Not in a prince's, but a peasant's cot ; 

Not wealth or honor greeted him at birth, 

But health and virtue, his ancestral worth ; 

The world showed splendors wheresoe'er he turned, 

With none for him untoiled for and unearned, 

And life, to wealth a scene of mirth and play. 

To him a rugged and an up-hill way ; 

But, nothing daunted, the young tyro rose. 

And at the ruoo-ed dealt Herculean blows. 

And every effort in the hearty strife 



26 OUR CHARLIE. 

Made the way smoother in the path of hfe, 
And the same blows that made the rugged smooth, 
Brought up bright gems of virtue and of truth, 
And between blows made recreation even, 
The school to aid him on to truth and heaven. 

Grace, in life's morning, dropping from above. 
Filled his young bosom with a Saviour's love. 
And life, whatever fortune it might bring, 
Seemed from that hour a consecrated thing. 
He sought not honors, honors sought him now. 
And piled the garlands on his noble brow. 
And at length placed him, at his country's call. 
In Freedom's highest legislative hall. 
Then his State, panting for his skill and care. 
Called him and set him in her highest chair; 
Then uncorrupt, sound, honest, and discreet. 
Gave him at length a high judicial seat, 
"Where innocence ne'er asked his aid in vain, 
And guilt, once there, ne'er wished to go again. 
And never, midst official toil and strife. 
Did he forget the ills and woes of life : 
Vice at his presence hid its hideous head, 
And Want's gaunt children looked to him for bread, 
And no sweet deed, howe'er unknown or dim, 
Appeared too humble or too small for him. 
Whatever act had potence to impart 



OUR CHARLIE. 27 

One thrill of joy to sorrow's shivering heart ; 

Whatever deed had magic to implant 

One germ of plenty in the home of want; 

Whatever words, spoke kindly in the ear, 

Could vice rebuke or modest virtue cheer, — 

Those acts and Avords he fitted to each case, 

And just adapted to the time and place. 

'Twas on a mission to some sufterers near. 

He was that morn to aid, instruct, and cheer, 

He rose to go, and passing through the hall. 

Swept by a gun that rested 'gainst the wall ; 

It fell, exploded, and the good man stood 

In a red pool of his own precious blood. 

'' 'Tis come," said he, while all around were awed, 

" 'Tis come ; be still, and know that I am God ! " 

His country called, — his Henry had obeyed. 
And led his hosts where her gay banners played. 
And at the moment when his father fell. 
Thought of sweet home, and fancied all was well. 

Love bent and whispered in the father's ear. 
Shall Henry come, to aid you and to cheer? 
Shall he come home, and at your bedside stand, 
To take the blessmg and the parting hand ? 
Shall Henry come, to kneel once more beside 
So kind a father and so wise a guide ? 



28 OUR CHARLIE. 

*' No I as I look, I see on either hand 
A. bleeding father and a bleeding land ; 
Let him not come, but to the rescue fly, 
His country needs him far, far more than I ; 
So like a soldier's is this death of mine, 
God may accept it, gallant boy, for thine ! " 

And thus he died, just as experience' lore 
Had filled his bosom full to running o'er, 
And head and heart knit with a well-earned fame, 
Backed by the magic of a spotless name. 
Made him that moment where he proudly stood. 
Most ripe for fame, most fit for doing good. 
The world looked on, and, with a tearful eye. 
Said, how mysterious such a man should die. 
While at each turn in common life are found 
Myriads who're only cumberers of the ground, 
Whom had God's thunders long ago destroyed, 
The world had been far better for the void ! 



THE WIDOW'S SON-. 

There was a boy, — a widowed mother's son, — 
Her sweet heart-blossom, — 'twas her only one ; 
'Neath Love's soft wing he felt a mother's care, 
And wished no Eden but the sweet one there. 



OUR CHARLTE. 29 

'Twas no weak motlier, with a doating pride, 

Had tliat young boy to counsel and to guide ; 

Her lieart all chastened by Affliction's rod, 

And calmly leaning on the arm of God, 

She felt that boy was, in her bosom, given, 

To train for honor, usefulness, and heaven. 

What need of aid that Christian mother felt, 

The altar witnessed where she daily knelt ; 

What counsel asked she of her heavenly guide, 

Her closet witnessed — no one else beside. 

Her prayers were heard, and counsel from above 

Came down to aid and consecrate her love ; 

And, while a boy, the Friend of childhood bent. 

And the pure spirit of adoption sent. 

O ! what a future seemed for him to ope 

To the fond heart and eager eye of hope ; 

His was a mind that seemed, in earliest youth. 

To feast itself upon the richest truth ; 

His was a heart where virtue's germ was set. 

And all the graces of the Christian met. 

And when at length he went away to rove, 

And thread the paths in Academus' grove. 

Each little learner with ambition fired, 

Looked up to him and wondered and admired, 

And the dear centre of the love and joy 

Of those young tyros was that youthful boy. 

O ! how they'd cluster round him in their sports, 



30 OUR CHARLIE. 

Their mimic gatherings, and their mimic courts ! 
And the bright skj of that gay school was dim, 
Without the presence and the smiles of him. 
The green, high mountains that begirt his home, 
The rough-tilled fields o'er which he loved to roam, 
The babbling brooks that leaped adown the hill, 
The mimic lakes the brooklets came to fill, — 
All had a charm so potent, 'twould entice 
The Kttle rovers from the hatmts of vice. 

A mimic lake, scooped by the hand of art. 
Lay in a grove encircled and apart ; 
Its glassy face, without a ripple, spread, 
A crystal sheet above the pebbly bed. 
And oft attracted thither to the wave. 
The merry tyros used to come and lave. 

The sky was clear, and Sol's solstitial ray 
Streamed down to earth and made a pleasant day ; 
The merry youth went out with nimble feet. 
Within the shadow of the green retreat. 
And with his comrades, with their heyday cheered, 
Plunged in the flood, and quickly disappeared ; 
Ah ! disappeared, for when their sports were done. 
Among the throng there was no widow's son. 



OUR CHARLIE. 31 

On yonder couch beliold liim sleeping now, 

That boy of promise with the noble brow, 

That widow's son, brought up and trained with care, 

Wrapped in a sleep that knows no waking there. 

That mother — see her mildly drawing nigh — 

Calm as her lost one, with a tearless eye, 

Parts the bright locks upon his manly brow. 

And plants a kiss upon the mimic snow. 

And says, My son, gone, gone to thy reward; 

Well, long ago, I gave thee to the Lord. 

Alas ! how strange, since death might take but one, 
His di'eaded bolt should strike the widow's son ; 
Strange it should be at such a victim hurled. 
That it should wound the widow and the world. 



THE ONLY SON. 

There's a fair city on New England's Thames, 
One of her sweetest architectural gems. 
Where stately mansions, filled with beauty, lift. 
And lovely dwellings, reared by toil and thrift, 
And where home-bliss, in like profusion, comes 
To stately mansions and to humble homes. 
And few, how few, of all her thousands dwell 
In want's chill cot or vice's gloomy cell. 



32 OUR CHARLIE. 

And cliurcli and scliool impart tlieir aid before 
The little traveller readies manhood's door, 
And thus he enters on life's active field, 
Armed cap-a-pie with helmet, spear, and shield ; 
Where spacious streets, smooth as Macadam's roads, 
Conduct the traveller to her grand abodes. 
And huge old trees, that form one Gothic arch. 
Make marching through them one triumphant march ; 
Where Nature's features all in harmony chime. 
The charming, fair, and rugged and sublime. 
The smooth Shetucket, that in beauty glides. 
And gayly mingles in the briny tides ; 
The foaming Yantic, whirling mill-wheels round. 
Then leaping cataracts seaward at a bound ; 
The Thames, where Commerce her white sails un- 
furls. 
And joins her interests with the outer world's, — 
These make that city on the river Thames 
One of the sweetest of New England's gems. 

Well, in that city, so like Eden decked. 

Two bosoms throb at sorrow's retrospect. 

Once their glad hearts, and their beloved boy's. 

Beat in a house fall of domestic joys. 

So blent together, sorrow, in one breast, 

Shot the same pang of anguish through the rest ; 

And thus that trio, as they daily roved 



OUR CHARLIE. 33 

Along life's pathway, labored, lived, and loved. 
Where is the spot beneath yon spreading dome 
So much like heaven as a New England home ? 
Where fond aflFection knit with thrift and health, 
Though gold it bring not, brings enough of wealth, 
And crown and throne and glory's loftiest niche 
Might make more wealthy, not a whit more rich. 
O, yes, of bliss, the sweetest fi'uitage comes 
From plants well trained in om- New England homes. 

They had one boy — it was their only one — 

An only child as well as only son. 

They loved that boy, yet 'twas their daily prayer 

To make no idol of their darling there ; 

They loved their Saviour with a love so true. 

They -washed their son to love and serve him too. 

With them religion was a pleasant plant ; 

Who can be cheerful, if the Christian can't ? 

No sour, morose, or chilling look or air 

Was ever mingled with parental care ; 

By nature genial, God's redeeming grace, 

Ne'er swept the sunbeams from the merry face ; 

And so Religion, to that merry boy. 

Came robed in beauty, innocence, and joy. 

And seemed to him, e'en in a world like this, 

A thing of love, a synonyme of bliss ; 

And those fond parents saw with faith's clear eye. 



34 OUR CHARLIE. 

That boy would be a Cliristian, by and by ; 
And, in old age, when earthly charms grew dim, 
They fondly hoped that they might lean on him. 
O ! if there was beneath yon azure dome 
One unspoiled Eden, 'twas that happy home ; 
They scarcely dreamed, or seemed to quite forget, 
That their small circle might be smaller yet. 
And laid their plans, as if theii' plans would stay 
Throughout life's changes to its closing day. 

'Tis ever thus, — till blessings take their flight, 
We very seldom look upon them right ; 
We toil for wealth and then so firmly clasp. 
We feel that nothing can unloose the grasp ; 
We pant for honor with unslaking thirst, 
Grasp it, and see the empty bubble burst ; 
And though all things are fragile as the flowers. 
We think, alas ! 'twill not be so with ours ; 
And though earth's setting, every day, new stones 
Above the ashes of our little ones. 
Each parent thinks God will his darling save, 
To plant the stones above his adult grave. 

'Twas winter now, and Nature slept below 
A faneral pall of chilly ice and snow ; 
The little rills that summer waked around. 
Were fettered firmly as a prisoner bound ; 



OUR CHARLIE. 35 

The leafy trees and flowers, with balmy breath, 

Slept still as if within the embrace of death ; 

The Thames w^as screened with glittering crystal 

round, 
Which spread far onward toward the treacherous 

sound ; 
The frantic Yantic, down the rapids tossed. 
Ran to the Thames unfettered by the frost; 
The gay Shetucket, down its native pass, 
Moved 'neath a screen as smooth and clear as glass ; 
And to his eye, who midst the scenery roams. 
All would seem gloom outside the genial homes. 
But hark ! the bells, and lo ! the merry sleigh, 
With merrier spirits, glides along the way. 
And round the streets the gay and joyous shout 
Shows plain as day that all the boys are out. 
And each, a radius of the merry scene. 
Flies toward Shetucket with its crystal screen ; 
And there was Herbert and his merry mates. 
All gliding gayly on their glittering skates ; 
Swift as an arrow shoots across the sky. 
The skaters dart, and seem almost to fly. 
Now in platoons, and moving side by side. 
They o'er the ice in gracefril movements glide, 
Then, like a rocket bursting in the sky. 
They start, and off at different angles fly ; 
Forward or backward, on one foot or two, 



36 OUR CHARLIE. 

Bent like a crescent or inverted U, 

They leap and fly, and lines and circles trace, 

And do it all with faultless ease and grace ; 

The laugh, the shout, flushed cheek, and flashing eye, 

Show health's the boon the merry skaters buy. 

O, yes ! there's pleasure, with no taint of vice. 

This flying, sailing, o'er the crystal ice ; 

And we exclaim, as we behold the joy, — 

" O ! once again who would not be a boy ? " 

The brittle ice, — it bends, it breaks, and lo ! 
The little urchins in the waters go. 
Then rise again, and many, in a trice, 
Seize hold, and gayly leap upon the ice ; 
But one, still in, clings to the ice's brink, 
Holds bravely on, resolving not to sink. 
Cheer up, my boy, hold on a little more, 
We'll bring thee succor, and 'twill all be o'er. 

Men from the city hasten at the cry; 

Men from the cars, for they were passing by. 

The poor boy feels benumbed, and chilled with frost, 

'Twill soon be over, and his grasp be lost. 

And cries, " Good-by, boys ; it is almost o'er ; 

Tell mother" What? Alas ! he said no more ; 

The blue waves oped, and on the pebbly bed, 
Death calmly pillowed little Herbert's head. 



OUR CHARLIE. 3Y 

Alas ! alas ! wlio will the tidings bear 

To that sweet home, and plant the anguish there ? 

Who'll tell the mother, who'll inform the sire. 

That one chair's vacant at their winter fire ? 

"Who'll plant the dagger that till life departs 

Will ne'er cease rankling in their wounded hearts ? 

Can nothmg come to modify the pain 
When the dear idols of om- hearts are slain ? 

When the kind mother, at the sick one's bed, 
Spreads the down softly 'neath his weary head, 
Tui'ns his tired frame, his couch to rearrange, 
To bring relief and comfort by the change, 
Lists every sigh, hears every little groan. 
And whispers comfort to the weary one. 
And when pain racks and sorrow overflows, 
Speaks some kind word to win him from his Avoes, 
And when she can do nothing more than this, 
Bends down above him and imprints a kiss, 
'Tis sweet to think when all at length is past. 
She tried to aid him to the very last. 

But when the mother sees her darling boy 
Go out for sport all brimming o'er with joy. 
She feels e'en glad that where her boy resorts 
He joins his fellows in their manly sports, 



38 OUR CHARLIE. 

And pride perhaps her httle hero can 
Go out and in, self -guided Hke a man. 
No anxious cares or sad forebodings swell 
That mother's heart that all may not be well ; 
She never thinks, or deems the thought is vain, 
Her darling boy may not come home again, 
And waits as calm and undisturbed as thouMi 
He'd only stepped within a room below. 

But the bell rings, and through the opening door 
The tidings come, her darling is no more ; 
And tramping feet just on the threshold bring 
Her poor dead boy, a cold and lifeless thing. 

Calm as a statue stands the mother there. 
The type of woe, the symbol of despair ; 
She cannot yet take in the tide of woe 
Poured in her bosom by the fiendish foe. 
The human heart has power to feel and bear 
Life's common ills, that meet us everywhere ; 
But when woe sends her deadliest and her worst. 
The stoutest cannot bear it all at first. 
And so kind nature gives the human heart 
Woe in instalments, when too keen the smart. 
And as the eye, first opening in the gloom. 
Expands ere seeing what is in the room. 
So the heart, staggering at a sudden blow, 



OUR CHARLIE. 39 

Feels not at first the full, full tide of woe ; 
The little wavelets first the rush begin, 
Until at last the mighty flood comes in. 

Dead ? he's but sleeping, — O ! how calm and still ! 

Ha ! ha ! that forehead, — O ! how pale and chill ! 

Dead ? God of mercy, — that my boy should die. 

And no one near him, no kind watcher by, 

Not even I, to bathe his aching head. 

To smooth his pillow and arrange his bed. 

To watch, and wait, and soothe, and aid, and cheer, 

And let him feel a tender mother near. 

And let him see, if the poor boy must die. 

The tear of sorrow from a mother's eye. 

And at the last, when all is done, do this : 

Embrace my boy and give the parting kiss. 

O ! then, me thinks, I could have borne with joy 

The loss, though bitter, of my darling boy. 

" Tell mother" — what? 'tis hard he could not tell. 
Perhaps, I love you, or perhaps, farewell ; 
Perhaps, I thank you for your love and care ; 
Perhaps, I hope, or, God forbid, despair. 
Whate'er it was, dear little fellow, I 
Shall know it all and hear it by and by. 

And thus that mother thinks it o'er and o'er, 



40 OUR CHARLIE. 

And daily sees and feels it more and more, 
Until at length the full,, the boundless whole 
Thrills every living fibre of the soul. 
Then will that sorrow be her daily care 
Till 'tis a bui'den she will love to bear; 
And should you wipe it off from memory's leaf 
'Twould be no solace, but a source of grief: 
The merchant lono; a crushino; burden bears 
Till 'tis his life to battle with his cares ; 
Let him retire with fortune's highest prize. 
And ten to one he's wretched or he dies. 

Then let her weep, and let her ne'er forget. 
Nor cease to feel till life's last sun shall set ; 
'Twill do her good to mourn her buried boy, 
'Twill lighten sorrow and 'twill chasten joy ; 
And when death comes, faith will, with cloudless eye, 
See the lost boy, and make it sweet to die. 

When the grim Monster deals the deadly blow. 
And lays the victim in life's heyday low. 
When new ties daily fasten heart to heart, 
Without one dream that they may have to part, 
'Tis then that parting seems a bitterer thing, 
And death's keen sting becomes a keener sting. 
And bleeding sorrow with full many a sigh 
Thinks 'tis so strange its little one should die. 



OUR CHARLIE. 41 



NO STRANGER THAT THE YOUNG" DIE THAN THE OLD. 

Most of earth's graves are very little ones, 
And short the stories chiselled on the stones, 
And if 'tis strange when death inflicts the blow 
That lays the tender and the youthftil low. 
Is it not strange when death's keen dart is sped, 
And useful age lies numbered with the dead ? 



THE OLD SAGE. 

I KNOW a sage, almost a century old. 

Whose name is with earth's noble names enrolled. 

At fom'score years, when life has fewer joys. 

His heart was young and buoyant as a boy's ; 

His mind, more full of life's and learning's lore. 

Was ne'er so vigorous and so strong before ; 

A heartier champion or a doughtier knight 

Ne'er toiled or fought for justice, truth, and right ; 

And eloquence — O ! 'twas a feast to sit 

And list the outbursts of his polished wit. 

At seventy-five he saw, from all concealed, 

The spot where fortune had a golden field ; 

And to the city, in whose curule chair 

He was oft called to sit and act as mayor, 



42 OUR CHARLIE, 

Threw off the veil, showed where the treasures were, 
And begged her guardians get the gems for her; 
But they, more wise, chose rather to refuse. 
And said " fantastic " of the old man's views. 
Well, said the sage, helped by a hand divine, 
I'll take the field, and make the treasure mine. 
The field was his, and with the riches there, 
Within five years he was a millionnaire. 
Now had he died at the full age of men. 
At threescore years or threescore years and ten. 
No one had thought 'twould heaven's pure plan de- 
range. 
Or called his death mysterious, wrong, or strange ; 
Yet that old man has, since that moment, won 
What very few through longest lives have done. 

If it seem strange life's morning sun should set 

While but just rising in the orient yet. 

And the young pilgrim find his race is run 

Before one act of earnest work is done, 

'Tis just as strange that death should strike the blow 

Before one does the whole he can below. 

And stranger yet one lingers on the shore. 

When so near nothing he can do no more, 

And perhaps strangest, God not always gi^^es 

Power to act even while the creature lives. 



OUR CHARLIE. 43 



THE AGED DIVINE. 

There is a man who has, a giant, stood 

Ahnost a centniy 'mong the wise and good. 

Who, to old age, with all the fire of youth. 

Was the wise teacher of the purest tiTith ; 

Men flocked to listen where his logic rung. 

And caught the accents dropping from his tongue ; 

His thoughts ne'er varied in their shape and hue, 

To stand in harmony with the current view ; 

He did his thinking, uttered what he thought. 

And acted always in the way he taught ; 

Who's still erect as when a buoyant youth 

Or stalwart man he hurled the bolts of truth. 

But whose mind now, once vigorous, keen, and clear. 

Too weak to grapple with a child's idea, 

And that fine form in which whilom was shrined 

The grand machinery of a noble mind. 

Seems like a casket of the purest gold 

Robbed of the jewels that it used to hold. 

Strange, the mind's powers should hasten to decay, 

And leave the body all in vigorous play ; 

Or body linger year by year behind. 

In disobedience to its master-mind. 

We think it strange that men so often should 



44 OUR CHARLIE. 

Live till too helpless to do any good, 

But far more strange that millions can be found 

Who all through life are cumberers of the ground. 

It seems mysterious that the noblest here 
Oft drop while marching in their full career; 
But history's leaves are filled with marvels o'er, 
That untold thousands did not die before. 

Had the same ball that maimed an Arnold slain, 
Earth had not cursed him as a worse than Cain ; 
And had Burr died in boyhood's early bloom, 
One villain less had found an earthly tomb. 



GALLERY AT THE VATICAN. 

Within one gallery at imperial Rome, 
Where Art, long buried, finds at last a home, 
There is one bust that, as he's passing by, 
Is pretty sure to catch the traveller's eye ; 
Its plump, fair face, and gentle, modest mien. 
And genial air, so peaceful and serene. 
All furnish proof without the least alloy, 
'Twas of a lovely and enchanting boy. 
One whom a mother might be proud to choose. 
And whom 'twould break her heart of hearts to 
lose. 



OUR CHARLIE. 45 

In that same gallery, farther on, is seen, 
A marble demon, both in form and mien ; 
The gross and vulgar in each feature twine, 
The fierce and cruel live in every line ; 
And then you feel no marvel in the case, 
When you read Nero chiselled on the base. 
But turn again, and a few steps retrace. 
And gaze once more upon that cherub's face. 
O ! what a contrast, so surpassing fair. 
An angel here, a very demon there. 
Who is that cherub ? Look and read and know 
That vile name Nero's chiselled down below. 
Great Jove ! why was that little angel screened 
From thy red bolts to grow a heartless fiend ? 
The blackest wretch that ever cursed the world 
Had never cursed it had the bolt been hurled ; 
And Rome's heart-tears in rivers would have run 
At the sad death of Agrippina's son. 
And the sad mother shed affection's tear 
While bending o'er her little Nero's bier. 
But the boy lived, the imperial purple wore. 
And Rome was deluged in her children's gore. 
Until her blood, that monster mother's, run, 
Pierced by the dagger of her fiendish son. 

Strange that God lets a little cherub grow 
Till 'tis a demon ripe for endless woe, 



46 OUR CHARLIE. 

No less a marvel than to hurl the dart, 

And pierce a heart pure as our Charlie's heart. 



RESCUE OF THE IDIOT BOY. 

I KNEW a man, a good old country 'squire, 

An honest farmer and indulgent sire ; 

Among his children patriarch-like he moved. 

And all the circle felt the old man loved. 

And 'mongst them all it was their chief employ 

To care for one, his little idiot boy. 

The father felt that, with a mind so dim, 

That helpless boy must go for aid to him ; 

And so he watched him when unwell and well. 

And guessed the wants he had no power to tell. 

And so unbroken was the vigil kept, 

'Twas on his heart both when he waked and slept, 

Until so yearning for his poor weak son. 

Himself and boy became entirely one : 

The woe or joy that thrilled his throbbing breast 

Made the fond father's as unblest or blest, 

And as he walked along life's rugged road, 

Care pressed upon him with a double load ; 

Yet the same blow that should, alas ! destroy 

One half his cares, would crush one half his joy. 



OUR CHARLIE. 47 

One summer day, with heat and toil oppressed, 
He laid him down as was his wont to rest. 
And, as he slept, his thoughts from habit run. 
Without volition, on his helpless son. 
He thought he saw him where he'd often seen. 
Roving around and straying o'er the green ; 
And then he saw him at the river's brink. 
Then plunging in, then struggling not to sink. 
The old man waked, and, with excitement wild. 
Rushed just in time to save his idiot child ; 
His heart was fall, and the glad father wept 
For joy, that God had watched him while he slept. 

Then the world said, O I strangest of events ! 

Untoward chance, mysterious Providence ! 

Thus to detain a guiltless idiot boy. 

Where there's for him not one sweet thrill of joy ; 

A deathless spirit to detain below. 

And where it never could expand and grow. 

And where its wants ne'er drink of plenty's bowl. 

Save through the medium of another's soul. 

And though that sh-e would feel full many a pain, 

He ne'er should see nor aid that boy again. 

Reason and time would heal the fleeting smart, 

And bring rehef to his o'erburdened heart; 

And wisdom almost would have sought in vain 

The slightest cause to sorrow or complain. 



48 OUR CHARLIE. 

But could have found unnumbered reasons why 
A drivelhng idiot, hngering here, should die. 



THE MISSIONARY. 

The last command the Man of Sorrows gave 
Was, preach my gospel where there's one to save ; 
Let the glad tidings that I bring be rung 
In every land, by every tribe and tongue ; 
Let the good news be told in every ear, 
"Where there's a sinner in the world to hear: 
Do this, and I, your Lord and God, will bless 
And crown your labors with complete success. 
The time will come, you'll reap the full reward 
When all the nations know and fear the Lord, 
When peace shall reign, and concord knit all lands. 
Love fill all hearts, and friendship join all hands, 
Earth's dreary deserts shall be filled with flowers. 
And white-robed virtue rove among the bowers. 

glorious thought ! the earnest Christian said. 
Be mine the bliss the glorious news to spread. 

1 have a treasure shrined within my heart, 
Which grows more precious as I spare a part; 
A treasure which, as long as I shall live, 
The more I give will leave me more to give ; 
A heavenly treasure, dropped in kindness, which 



OUR CHARLIE. 49 

Will make the giver and receiver rich, 
And which if spread will lift a world like this 
Up to the realms of pure and fadeless bliss. 
Where is the Christian that would hide the prize, 
With this great truth all blazoned to his eyes ? 

Go preach my gospel wheresoe'er there's one 
Whom sin has stained, or guilt or crime undone ; 
This great command for twenty centuries near 
Has rolled its thunders into every ear. 
And all men heard, where'er the summons went, 
But few, how few, felt what the summons meant ! 
But now its import flashed on every one. 
Clear as the lightnings through mid-ether run. 
And one by one the Christian bosom felt. 
And one by one began to warm and melt. 
And one by one, as each began to see. 
Cried out in triumph, " Here am I ; send me." 
And many came, and many a one was sent. 
And many a soldier to the combat went ; 
Home, friends, possessions, comforts, country, all. 
Compared with this, appeared surpassing small. 
And hardship, suffering, pain, and death, to meet. 
Seemed in the pathway of obedience sweet. 
Then with the prayers and fond adieus of all. 
He went, obedient to his Master's call. 
Left home and friends, and social charms and joys. 



50 OUR CHARLIE. 

And sweet refinements, pleasures, and employs, 
And 'neath the banner of the cross mifurled, 
Plunged in the midnight of a heathen world. 

Not the gay steamer, that in calm or blow 
Can through the waves with equal fleetness go. 
Bears the poor herald toward an eastern sky, 
Where he must go, to toil, and droop, and die ; 
Not the gay steamer, 'tis tlje snail-paced ship, 
Where he embarks, in which he takes the trip. 
Wealth has its gold, to purchase at its worth 
The costly luxury of a steamer's berth. 
But the poor herald of the cross must be. 
For weary months, a sufferer on the sea. 
And worn and weary, when he comes to land. 
No friend will smile and give the welcome hand. 
No well known face he'll see on that dark shore, 
Nor one fair object he e'er saw before. 

The trip was o'er, the white-winged ship, that day. 
Rode out at anchor in that Eastern bay. 
And the young herald, leaping on the strand. 
Knelt and thanked God he saw the promised land. 

A boat, a boat, behold the yellow rowers ! 
They're in the boat, already at the oars. 
Aboard, aboard, and now they turn the prow. 



OUR CHARLIE, 51 

And row the herald up the river now. 

For days and nights before the boat will reach 

The lonely jungle, where he's sent to preach. 

How strange the scene ! the river, wood, and skies, 

All, all seem strangers to his youthful eyes ; 

And home, sweet home, with all its loves and joys, 

Its social pleasures and its sweet employs, 

Loved forms and faces graven on his heart. 

On memory's canvas every moment start. 

Life, all of life, by mind and heart amassed. 

Sleep in the graveyard of the buried past ; 

Friends, home, and country, all he'd loved before, 

These all are objects he shall see no more ; 

And had his Master not beside him stood, 

And fed his spirit with angelic food. 

The lonely youth had sought the gallant ship. 

And taken passage for a homeward trip ; 

But his kind Master still was hovering near. 

And whispered comfort in the herald's ear. 

And then he prayed, O Thou who bad'st me come 
To this dark land that I must call my home. 
Keep at my side, my close companion be, 
I have no friend to whom to go but Thee ; 
Help, for I'm powerless, help, for I am dumb, 
To speak the errand upon which I come ; 
But at Thy side, whatever may befall, 



52 OUR CHARLIE. 

I'll toil for Tliee, my God, my friend, my all. 
He rose refreshed, and, brimming o'er with love, 
Cried, " Toil is here, but rest and bliss above ; 
This is my home, and 'neath my Master's eye 
I'll toil and suffer, and, if need be, die." 

The day was bright, the sky was blue and clear, 
Beauty the eye, and music charmed the ear ; 
And, as they rowed him up the sacred stream, 
Life seemed a mystery, earth appeared a dream ; 
And then he cried, glad-hearted that he'd come, 
I thank Thee, Father, that I'm almost home. 
But as he spoke God's tempest, fierce and strong, 
Brought desolation in its path along. 
Pagodas fell beneath its vengeful wrath, 
And Indian homes lay scattered in its path. 
And trees, like pipe-stems, shattered at a blow. 
Flew through the air like arrows from a bow, 
And, like a demon, made the bark a wreck. 
With a dead herald lying on the deck. 

Ah ! stranger things, it may not be denied, 
Full oft occur than that our Charlie died ; 
And the world said, while pointing to his bier, 
God frowns on missions, it is written here. 
While e'en the Christian scarce could understand 
How God could thwart His own divine command. 



OUR CHARLIE. 06 

Yes, stranger things, it cannot be denied, 
Are happening here than that our Cliarhe died ; 
And then we think, and O ! it soothes our woe, 
What now we know not we shall sometime know ; 
What now seems dark will, in heaven's clearer light, 
Seem all in harmony with vmspotted right; 
And every pang on earth that can annoy 
Will end in heaven in one sweet thrill of joy. 



THE YOUNG HERALD. 

A CHOSEN vessel, — so they used to say 

Of their young pastor every Sabbath-day ; 

A pious heart, a highly cultured mind. 

And all the graces of the Christian twined. 

With all the charms of polished rhetoric strung. 

With grace of person, eloquence of tongue. 

All these appeared in harmony to produce 

A chosen vessel for the Master's use. 

Alas ! so young, yet, in his high employ, 

He was a man, and not a whit a boy. 

Deep-steeped in learning's, deep in heavenly, lore. 

From truth's pure mine he dug the purest ore. 

And, unalloyed by vanity and pride. 

He was a safe, a most persuasive guide. 

Crowds flocked to hear him, every Sabbath-day, 



54 OUR CHARLIE. 

And ne'er unfed the hearers went away; 

And wilhng converts to the Saviour flew, 

At his entreaty, thick as drops of dew. 

He sought not honors, sought not praise or fame. 

For all unsought they clustered round his name ; 

And Christians called him, whatsoe'er their views, 

A chosen vessel for the Master's use; 

And if so young, so mighty he appears, 

What will his might be in maturer years? 

And his own sect looked to the youthful guide 

With fondest hope and, it may be, with pride. 

Schisms had oft wrought havoc with that flock. 

That oft had served the wheels of truth to block ; 

But at his advent storm and tempest hushed, 

And perfect union every discord crushed. 

And all harmonious flock and shepherd strove. 

To work together in the bonds of love. 

God blessed the union, for He blessed the truth. 

And blessed with man's the influence of the youth. 

Not four full months had, in their lingering flight, 

To pass before the new-sown fields were white ; 

The plough and sickle both together plied. 

The sower and reaper labored side by side ; 

It was a scene o'er which the spirit bent, 

And while faith prayed, the heavenly blessing sent. 



OUR CHARLIE. 55 

'TAvas summer now, and from the sweltering streets 

The bnsy cits were seekmg cool retreats ; 

Some down the bay, some up the river run, 

Some down to Greenwood fi'om the scorching sun, 

Some to the mountain, some to merry spas. 

Some farther northward in the dusty cars, 

Wliile some, too busied for a longer stay. 

Sought the cool beach, to pass the current day. 

Where the fresh sea-breeze its inspirings gave, 

And weary limbs might in the waters lave. 

And thus refreshed the crowded city seek 

For life's stern duties for another week. 

So the young servant of his Master, too. 

Went, worn and tired, his vigor to renew. 

Not to the mountain for its bracing air. 

Not to the Spa, where pleasure's throngs repair. 

Nor some sweet village in some rural clime, 

Wliere he at ease could spend the summer-time ; 

He simply sailed across the narrow bay. 

To pass a few hot summer hours away. 

To walk the beach, by the cool breezes fanned. 

Or watch the surges rushing on the sand. 

Or plunge within and dash the waves aside. 

And midst the surges in gay triumph ride. 

The youthful pastor could the waters skim. 
And 'midst the waves, with gracefid movements, 
swim. 



66 OUR CHARLIE. 

For from his boyhood he'd been wont to lave 
Within the flood, and skim the yeasty wave. 

And so he went along the beach's verge, 

And boldly plunged within the angry surge, 

And, with an easy and a graceful sweep, 

Swam boldly out upon the briny deep ; 

With ease and grace he sailed as lightly there 

As any bird that flits athwart the air; 

He swam and floated, buoyant as a cork, — 

It was all play, without a bit of work ; 

And danger felt there was no work for him 

Where the young pastor gayly went to swim. 

But, strange event, his mission was all o'er. 

That chosen vessel never reached the shore ; 

The bonds that bound him to his home and flock, 

The ties of friendship sundered by the shock. 

The seeds that hope expected him to sow, 

The yellow harvest from the seed to grow, 

All were o'erwhelmed beneath the briny deep. 

Where the young shepherd laid him down to sleep. 

Such hopes to blast, such plans to disarrange. 

The world beheld, and called it " passing strange." 

Ah, yes ! more ties, but not more sweet, are rent 

Sometimes than those when our dear Charlie went. 



OUR CHARLIE. 51 

THE HAPPY FAMILY. 

If in this world there is a home, sweet home, 
Where earth's chill winter never dares to come. 
It is that home that never, never shares 
The poor man's sufferings or the rich man's cares, 
Where harvests spring up from its gay employ, 
And thrift converts them into home-felt joy, 
Where Agur's prayer from home's pure altar flies, 
And the sweet boon comes dropping from the skies. 
'Twas such a home, one of earth's happiest ones, 
That held within two parents and two sons ; 
Love, virtue, vigor, competence, and health 
Were to that homestead all its hoarded wealth. 
And 'twas enough, with all these blessings given. 
That home had many an element of heaven. 
Their wants were few, but all they wished was theirs, 
Without the rich man's panics, fears, and cares ; 
Banks, railroads, factories, whether well or worse. 
Had no effect on person, place, or purse, 
And Wall or State Street might be down or up. 
Without affecting its o'erflowing cup ; 
The outside world might be all noise and din 
And that sweet home be all at peace within. 

There is no Eden in this world of ours. 

But some blight's found among the lovely flowers, 



68 OUR CHARLIE. 

The glorious smi, with all his golden rays, 
Has many a spot upon his burnished face ; 
And is it strange, that, hi that tairv ground, 
One di'ooping gem, one blasted bud, was found ? 

They had two sons, — one was as bright a lad 

As ever made a loving parent glad ; 

The other blasted in life's early spring, • 

AVas a poor idiot, — was a drivelling thing. 

This was the bud that wasted with the blight, 

This was the blot amidst the bower of light ; 

But with a love unmingled with alloy. 

The other three clung to that ichot boy. 

And as a vacuum must be first supplied 

Bv the freed air that's restino- at its side. 

So the poor idiot always, from the rest, 

Got the first cupful of delight and best. 

The blio'hted bud amono- the bloomino- flowers 

"Was, it is true, a blemish in the bowers. 

But love all blazoned "^^-ith a holier light 

Shone midst the scene, and blotted out the blio'ht. 

And that home, maybe, felt more genuine joy 

Because it held that helpless icUot boy. 

The lather died, and let the idiot be, — 

And then men said, '' God help the other three ! "' 

And the first grief-gush seemed all hope to sweep. 



OUR CHARLIE. 59 

And leave that home no solace but to weep. 

But mother's love, — tliere's nought so strong below, 

Save what she'll suffer, what she'll dare to do. 

Itoused from the stupor that the blow had given, 
She bowed submissive to the stroke of Heaven, 
Then kissed her children both, her little ones, 
And smiling sweetly on her little sons. 
She said to him and took his tiny hand. 
Who only could her meaning understand, — 
Your father's dead, from whom there used to come 
All that made ours a sweet and happy home ; 
Now there's no arm this side of the Divine 
That we can lean on but on yours and mine. 
And we, since WilHe's is so weak and dim. 
Must use our o^vn for both ourselves and him. 

And so they wrought, — she and her bright-eyed 

boy,— 
And both felt happy in their new employ. 
And home was happy, for the mother knew 
If she would try, that God would help her too. 
And little George kept longing for the day 
When he could aid by work as well as play ; 
And little Willie's shallow cup of bliss 
Was running o'er in such a home as this. 
And they both felt although home's sun was set, 



60 OUR CHARLIE. 

Bright sunlight streamed within their homestead yet. 
But God now stepped within that home of joy, 
And smote to dust that Kttle bright-eyed boy ; 
The mother, awe-struck, said " Thy will be done," 
And sat down calmly by her idiot son. 

Strange, said the world, that God should deal a blow 
That spared the fool but laid the bright boy low ; 
That took the one that could her burdens share, 
And left the one who'd be a constant care. 
And human reason, wiser than Divine, 
Would fain reverse it, every word and line ; 
And human kindness, had it had the rule. 
Had spared the bright boy and recalled the fool. 

Ah ! human reason, hast thou power to look 
And read man's future, as we read a book. 
And trace, amidst their spiritual employs. 
The boundless future of those little boys ? 
And weigh how much an early death or late 
Gave shape and color to their changeless fate ? 
And how the death-blows, both the sire's and son's, 
Swayed the long fate of those surviving ones ? 
When thou canst read this panorama through, 
And see it plain as God and angels do. 
And feel each pulse, and see each light and shade 
Of future life, and why and how 'twas made, 



OUR CHARLIE. 61 

Then if thou seest among what God has done 
A seeming blemish, thou canst call it one, 
Or aught inhuman dropping from above. 
Then say that God is not a God of love. 

Our hearts are bleeding that our boy was slain, 
But, thanks to God, we never dared complain. 
It may be, will be, if we e'er reach Heaven, 
And thence look back to where this blow was given. 
We'll feel and know whatever grief it cost, 
'Twas just the blessing that we needed most. 
And it may be the very thing was this 
That sealed our title to miending bliss. 



THE RICH AND POOR BOY. 

'TwAS in New York, where, mingled and combined. 
Are all the grades of matter and of mind ; 
Where shivering want in scantiest raiment goes, 
Chill as cold winter with its frosts and snows. 
And muffled wealth, arranged with taste and care. 
Goes warm as if in summer's genial air ; 
And every tint of social state between 
Is daily mingling in the motley scene ; 
And in that city there is seen displayed 
One panorama of each human grade. 



62 OUR CHARLIE. 

One winter day, when through the swarming street, 
The shivering crowds sped on with hurrying feet, 
The cold, cold wind, in many an angry gust. 
Swept on through Broadway in a cloud of dust. 
And great and small, as the fierce whirlwind passed. 
Turned round to 'scape the fury of the blast, 
And muffling closer, shielding face and form 
Against the fury of the wind and storm. 
And all New York, the well and scanty clad, 
Said of the day, — 'twas very, very bad. 

Among the crowd two little boys were seen 
Of equal age, to judge by size and mien : 
One, warmly clad, went boldly on his way. 
Nor seemed to feel that 'twas a blustering day. 
His splendid dress betrayed a home of wealth. 
His ruddy cheeks betokened perfect health ; 
His pleasant face and genial manners quite 
Sufficed to prove him, although rich, polite ; 
And though within a home of luxury bred. 
With not a want unanswered or unfed, 
Wise heads had taught him, gentle spirits fired, 
And generous hearts, his generous heart inspired. 
And common sense had breathed within his soul. 
And formed his powers in one harmonious whole. 
The pride of wealth had never thrilled his mind: 
His heart was generous, liberal, loving, kind. 



OUR CHARLIE. 63 

And want and sorrow, and disease and pain, 
Whene'er they asked him never asked in vain. 
And that sweet boy, that loved to aid and give. 
Was just the boy that one would wish to live, — 
One of those sweet ones coming from above, 
That all beholding watch, admire, and love. 

The boy beside him was a child of want, — 
A ragged, thieving, vicious mendicant. 
Amidst old ruins, in a filthy den, 
His home had been with vile and vicious men. 
Who'd only taught him that the good and great 
Were simply made for him to rob and hate ; — 
And all the wealth and splendor, round him strown, 
Belonged to him no less than those that own ; 
And 'twas his right, for blessings unpossessed. 
To beg a portion, and to steal the rest. 
And that poor boy, while yet so very young, 
Lied, begged, swore, stole, nor di'eamed of doing 

wrong. 
For conscience ne'er upon his moral leaf 
Had put one thought to check the little thief. 

So while he walked beside that noble lad. 
Who loved to see and make all others glad. 
He, cold and shivering, 'midst the dusty storm. 
And with a whine that rogues know how to form, 



64 OUR CHARLIE. 

Begged for a trifle to procure a crumb 
For his poor mother without bread at homo. 
And tlie boy gave the poor and shivering lad, 
Glad he'd the power to make another glad ; — 
Yet that young villain, though he cried and whined, 
Had no starved mother, who with hunger pined ; 
He took the shilling with a thankful look. 
And then adroitly stole his pocket-book ; 
Then fallino; back he mixed amono; the train. 
To find a chance to bes; and rob ao;ain. 

Just at that instant passing near the wall 

Of an old building tottering to its fall, 

A fiercer blast against the pile was sent, 

And down the building into ruin went. 

Beneath the weight the passers-by were crushed. 

And all again was into silence hushed. 

A few were killed, the most were mangled found. 

But that young beggar came out safe and sound. 

That generous boy who just had given relief, 

And then been robbed by that unfeeling thief, 

Was walking on, wreathed in a genial smile. 

Out of the reach of that old crumbling pile. 

When lo ! a fragment like a leaden ball. 

Shot far ahead out of the crumbling wall. 

And that sweet boy, although so far before, 

Was struck, and there lay weltering in his gore. 



OUR CHARLIE. 65 

Strange, said the world, tliat God a blow should give, 
That smote that boy, and let the villain live, 
E'en when the thief was in the very path 
Where the fierce wind-god swept along in wrath, 
And that sweet boy had gone so far alas. 
That he seemed safe beyond the falling mass. 

How human wisdom in its pride will seize 

And criticise such casualties as these. 

And prove how much more natural to destroy 

The little wretch, and spare the noble boy, — 

And show by proofs as plain as noonday light, 

Had God reversed it 'twould have been all right. 

Like that young thief had that bright boy escaped, 

With such a heart for virtue formed and shaped. 

No tongue can tell of what surpassing worth 

His life had been to this revolted earth. 

And the best instincts of the heart had then 

Cried, in a transport of delight, '' Amen ! " 

And had the thief been, like the good boy, crushed. 

Those same good instincts had each murmur hushed, 

The world had said that God had acted best, 

And lofty reason kindly acquiesced ; 

For that young rogue, while waxing worse and worse, 

Would have been nothincr but a social curse. 

And to himself a constant source of woe, — 

Been through all life his own most deadly foe. 

5 



QQ OUR CHARLIE. 



When in our streets we've seen those wretched ones 
Begging for bread and half-denuded bones, 
And by feigned tears and simulated cries, 
Make them pass current, their deceit and lies, 
Then thought how Charlie, our dear, darling boy, 
Had all he needed for his cup of joy, — 
Had food, and clothes, and all that he required, 
To be well fed and tidily attired. 
And had a home, if not earth's very best. 
With all but luxury furnished and possessed. 
Where those that loved him clasped him to the breast. 
And would have died to make their Charlie blest ; 
Yet Charlie died, with all these things to cheer. 
While thousands live without one comfort here ; 
And our poor hearts will sometimes think and sigh. 
Strange these should live and our dear Charlie die. 

Was it a weakness with presumption fraught ? 
No matter what, our hearts will feel the thought, 
And sometimes forced by such sad thoughts to melt, 
Our hearts will whisper what they sadly felt. 
Just as the world could not suppress its grief 
When fell that good boy and survived the thief. 



OUR CHARLIE. 67 



THE ARTIST AND HIS IDEAL. 

There was an artist, had his humble home 

Within the bosom of imperial Rome ; 

Midst her old ruins he had daily walked, 

With Art's old masters he had daily talked. 

Till, so in love with Nature's myriad charms, 

He threw himself within her twining arms. 

And, like a child, within her warm embrace. 

Watched every change upon her lovely face. 

He'd seen her mirrored midst the crumbling wrecks 

And modern piles of earth's best architects ; 

He'd seen her springing from the shapeless block. 

Riven from the quarries of the Parian rock ; 

He'd seen her gayly from dead canvas gush. 

And live and breathe obedient to his brush. 

And her own scenery of all tints and dyes, 

In the mild azure of Italian skies. 

And all the varying and bewitching miens 

She takes to form her rich Italian scenes. 

But still unsated with the luxury placed 

Among the viands for his cultured taste. 

There was one viand, one voluptuous dish. 

That ne'er had sprung obedient to his wish : 

He longed to see, and yet he knew not whence, 

A perfect type of spotless innocence, 



68 OUR CHARLIE. 

For he'd not seen the faultless picture yet, 
Althouo-h he'd watched each form and face he met ; 
He'd seen the Pope, and tried in vain to trace 
Its lineaments beneath those folds of lace. 
He'd seen the Cardinals, clad in scarlet, rolled 
Through Roman streets in chariots dressed in gold ; 
He'd seen the priests, old Rome's most common nomis, 
In uo-lv hats and most uno;raceful ffowns. 
And loathsome monks, in filthiest garments clad, 
To show the world they're solemn, sour, and sad, 
But 'mong them all, though sought with utmost care. 
He did not find the gem he wanted there. 
He'd seen the nuns in all their neat costumes, 
Like lovely lilies in their snow-white blooms ; 
But howe'er fair, the picture was not fraught 
With that sweet thing, the object that he sought ; 
The beau ideal that he wished to paint 
Was not the child of penance and constraint ; 
The innocence that he was seekino; there 
Must come fi'om love and be as free as air. 
Not merely known by badges and costumes. 
But, like flowers, also by its rich perfumes ; 
And badge and costume, howe'er true, must be. 
Like blossoms, outbursts of the parent tree. 

He dreamed by night and he inquired by day, 
Where is the jewel ? Whither is the way ? 



OUR CHARLIE. 69 

He roved the halls of science and of art, 

But did not find the vision of his heart ; 

He looked at Nature, — earth, and sea, and air, — 

But did not find the hright creation there. 

He roved beyond his usual rounds one day. 

Among the tombs that skirt the Appian Way, 

And then within the still Campagna roved. 

But nowhere found the vision that he loved. 

Then toward Frascali bent his steps, until 

He reached the villa of the Alban Hill, 

And ere scarce conscious, found that he had come 

Up to the j^ath that leads to Tusculum, 

Whence Cato sprang, the censor of old Rome, 

And Tulli wrote within his summer home. 

He took the path and mounted up the hill. 

Along where once was many a Roman ville. 

Till, with an instinct that can never err, 

He stood at Tusculum's ruined theatre ; 

And there he stopped and viewed the dappled west 

Just at the hour red Phoebus sunk to rest : 

The broad Campagna, by old arches spanned. 

In endless lines, e'en though in ruins gran ' ; 

And farther on the ruins of old Rome, 

And the huge grandeur of St. Peter's dome 

And farther west old Ostia's shimmering bay 

In the dim twilight of departing day, — 



70 OUR CHARLIE. 

'Twas lovely all, but the poor son of art 
Found not the idol shrined within the heart. 
He turned to go, but where he had to pass 
An angel lay upon a tuft of grass : 
A beauteous boy, surpassing sweet and fair, 
Had lost his way, and thus lay sleeping there ; 
His little hands were crossed upon his breast, 
A fresh-plucked flower was on his bosom pressed, 
And unseen angels, bending o'er the child. 
Were talking with him, and the cherub smiled. 
Some little tear-drops on his sweet cheeks lay, 
That he'd been shedding when he lost his way. 
And tears and smiles in all their witchery wove. 
Like shower and sunshine, made a thing to love ; 
And still he smiled, for still the angels talked. 
And through the bowers of Paradise they walked ; 
And his lips moved, for round among the flowers 
He walked and talked with angels in their bowers 
And fear and care bade not a ripple roll 
Across the peaceful current of the soul, — 
And like a being newly winged above. 
Where each pulsation is a throb of love. 
The sweet young spirit of that gentle boy 
Was a pure gem of peace and love and joy ; 
So gazed the artist, for the beau ideal 
Of his chaste fancy had become the real ; 
For innocence, he'd sought with sleepless care, 



OUR CHARLIE. 71 

But never found, true to his dreams, was there ; 

And so he gazed, until the charming whole 

Daguerreotype d his image on the soul ; 

And when again before his easel placed, 

Out of his soul he drew the thing he traced, 

Till on the canvas he beheld, with joy, 

The mirrored image of that little boy. 

The pure quintessence, not obscure and dim. 

Of innocence's perfect synonyme. 

"Eureka!" cried he, "for the victory's mine," 

And hung it up within his studio's shrine. 

Long years had passed, and Innocence still hung 
Within his home, extolled by every tongue. 
And his own heart had daily feasts of joy. 
Oft as he gazed upon that little boy ; 
But from the hour his magic pencil run 
O'er the last line, and left the picture done, 
His soul had yearned, with all an artist's pride. 
To see Guilt's picture hanging at its side. 
And he had roved by land and sea to find 
The beau ideal cherished in his mind ; 
And though he'd found in many a face he'd seen 
Some lineaments that mark the monster's mien. 
And althoucrh some seemed demons black as night, 
The blackest had some little gleams of light, 
And 'twas, in fancy only, he had built 
The loathsome fabric of unbroken guilt. 



72 OUR CHARLIE, 

'Twas at a time when Nature's lovers stroll, 

For feasts of reason and for flows of soul, 

The artist left his studio and his care, 

And walked abroad, it scarcely mattered where, 

Till, having reached the Duke Colonna's lands. 

He found himself where Paliano stands. 

The dark old prison, the Hon of the town. 

Appeared to wear a more demoniac frown. 

And guilt's dread children, from their gloomy cells, 

Sent fiercely out their curses, shrieks, and yells. 

And to fill full the harmony of their strains. 

The clash of fetters and the clank of chains. 

And soon he passed through the unbolted door. 

The scenes within to study and explore ; 

From cell to cell he passed along, and leaned 

'Gainst grated doors to see each prisoned fiend. 

And his brain reeled as he beheld the trace 

Of blackest guilt on every fiendish face ; 

Yet every one, howe'er of good bereft. 

Had some slight trace of human nature left. 

Some little marks that faintly seemed to tell, 

'Twas not a demon, nor his j)rison a hell. 

But there was one, whose cell was farther on. 
From whom all human seemed forever gone ; 
The bloodshot eye, fierce brow, and matted hair, 
Told but too plainly 'twas a demon there, 



OUR CHARLIE. 73 

Not one pale beam or faintest tint of light 
Shot through the darkness of his moral night, 
But all was dark, and midnight round about 
Had seemed to blot each trace of manhood .out. 

The artist viewed him with an earnest eye. 
And scanned this demon of the darkest dye, 
And shuddering cried, Whate'er the creature be, 
'Tis just the monster that I've longed to see. 

Few were the suns that ran their daily round. 
Before the monster on the canvas frowned. 
And then he saw, with all an artist's pride, 
The fiend and cherub hanging side by side, 
The perfect types, in contrast so immense. 
Of blackest guilt and brightest innocence. 
Where good and bad had left their typic trace. 
To deck and mar the human form and face. 

And then he'd daily look and study each. 
And learn the lesson they were meant to teach. 
Can such a cherub — no, he never can — 
Become a creature like that monster man ? 
Or such a monster, when his race begun. 
Have ever been that little cherub one ? 
And yet that monster was a boy whilom, 
And he had parents and a pleasant home, 



74 OUR CHARLIE. 

And tliose fond parents loved their clierub boy, 
And that sweet home he filled with light and joy, 
And love, blind love, predicted that his name 
Would one day shine upon the scroll of fame. 
He might have seemed in childhood's earliest spring 
An innocent and very charming thing ; 
But had he then for his young portrait sat. 
It could not sure have been a thing like that. 

Mistaken artist, will it mar thy joy 
To know that monster was that cherub boy ? 
And that the cherub, so angelic miened. 
Became in manhood such a hideous fiend ? 
But so it is, — that boy, who first begun 
So fair, so sweet, became that fiendish one. 

God help our children, if the dear ones can 
Become as loathsome as that hideous man, 
And God help us, if culture or neglect 
Can make them wrecks, as that sweet boy was 
wrecked. 

We think of this, — and if it does not cheer. 

It seems to dry up many and many a tear ; 

For though our Charlie surely never could 

Have been aught else than sweet and kind and good, 

Much less as liideous and deformed become 



OUR CHARLIE. i 

As that sweet boy that slept at Tusculum, 
'Twas sweet to think that ere with cunning art 
Guilt dropped a stain upon his spotless heart, 
The Saviour came, and with a look of love, 
Bore him in triumph to his home above, 
Where not a stain can ever touch our boy. 
And not a sorrow ever mar his joy. 

O ! Charlie, Charlie, though our bosoms bleed, 
We love to think that thou art blest indeed, 
And that although we're sundered now in twain, 
We soon shall meet our beauteous child aoain ; 
Meet, not as now, to spend a few fleet years. 
And part m sorrow, groans, and sighs, and tears, 
But meet and sweetly mingle heart with heart. 
Live, learn, and love, and never, never part ; 
And then it sometimes gives us sweet relief 
To think life here is so exceeding brief; 
And hope's pulsations beat more fall and strong, 
To think hereafter life will be so long. 



DEATH SELDOM COMES AT THE EIGHT TIME. 

How seldom 'tis, in any age or clime. 
Death claims his victims at the proper time. 
Whate'er man is, whate'er he might have been, 



76 OUR CHARLIE. 

Too soon or late Death thrusts his sickle in ; 

While on the road to honor and renown, 

Death often comes and strikes the victim do^^Ti, 

Just freed from care, with boundless wealth in store, 

The arrow flies, and it is his no more. 

The warm-souled herald to the rescue flies, 

When sorrow shrieks and trembling ignorance cries, 

But in mid passage or but just ashore. 

Expires or founders, and his mission's o'er ; 

The hale old man scarce reaching to decline. 

Receives his summons when at ninety-nine. 

And thinks 'tis hard, unfeeling, and severe, 

God did not spare him to live out the year. 



THE SAILOR. 

I KNEW him well, a rover of the sea,^ 
A braver tar you never saw than he, 
At first a sailor, then in many a trip. 
The gallant captain of a gallant ship ; 
Tears wet all faces when he went to roam, 
And tears of joy whenever he came home. 

A sparkling girl, who, in our social joys. 

Was warmth and sunshine to the girls and bovs, 

Smiled on the sailor from the very start, 



OUR CHARLIE. 11 

And sweetly gave him all lie wished, — her heart ; 
And soon in o-ladness friends and kindred met 
To see them tangled in the silken net ; 
And ne'er were seen a bridegroom and a bride 
More full of joy than Ben and Zealide. 

They lived and loved, united heart and heart, 
Both when together and when far apart. 
The bond of love from that domestic hearth 
Oft stretched mibroken all around the earth. 
Like olive plants their httle prattlers sprung, 
And sweetest perfumes o'er the homestead flung; 
And each new cherub given them from above. 
Gave added potence to the bond of love. 

When the fierce wind-god swept along in wrath, 

And carried death and havoc in his path. 

How their hearts chilled to think that storm might be 

Sweeping in anger o'er the troubled sea. 

And he they loved, o'ertaken in his way. 

Might be that moment in the deadly fray ; 

And how joy kindled in their bosoms w^hen 

Word came, " all safe," the vessel and the men ! 

And how sweet home run over with delio;ht 

At the glad tidings of " a sail in sight ! " 

And love grew lovelier when it looked to see 

That manly form, and hear the word " 'Tis he." 



78 OUR CHARLIE. 

Then came the presents, beauteous, rich, and rare, 
Things to display and eat and drink and wear ; 
And more than these, those things that unpossessed, 
Prevent e'en love from making hoiiseholds blest. 

Three years had passed since, with his sails unfurled, 
He had been cruising round and round the world ; 
And love was watching every hour at home 
To see the lover and the father come. 

At length it came, — the tidings came one day, 
The gallant ship was coming up the Bay, 
And o'er the Sound the steamer gliding hence 
Bore the glad tidings on to Providence. 

Home was astir, — all wore a merry air ; 
For in two days the rover would be there ; 
How oft they wished, and said it with a smile. 
That Providence were on Manhattan Isle ! 
Then when the vessel into port had come. 
The gallant captain would have been at home ; 
But ah ! two days ! — it seemed an age before 
They should behold his pleasant face once more. 

But time does fly, though snail-like to the mind. 
That flies so swift it leaves old Time behind ; 
Hope will, so swiftly, towards the guerdon go, 



OUR CHARLIE. 79 

It chides the hours and calls them very slow ; 

And when we sit at pleasure's sweet repast, 

We chide old Time, and think he moves too fast. 

Between the murderer and the fatal day 

Days are but moments, but an inch of way ; 

But placed between the lover and his home, 

It seems long ages in the time to come. 

But time will move, — the captain, with his freight, 

Leaped on the steamer, buoyant and elate ; 

And then he said, while looking round and round, 

*' Why was Long Island made so long a Sound ? 

Twelve, fourteen hours, it may be many more, 

Ere I shall land on dear Rhode Island's shore ; 

Still 'tis no matter, — I'll my state-room keep, 

And spend the moments in unconscious sleep. 

Then, though His long ere those dear ones I see, 

'Twill be a moment, only that, to me." 

He slept and dreamed, — arrayed in all her charms. 
His wife had rushed within his circling arms. 
The children gabbled like so many geese, 
And kissed and kissed him twenty times apiece, 
And he and they kept wondering o'er and o'er 
Why 'twas each other had not altered more ; 
Then came the presents, brilliant, rich, and rare, 
Designed for each, and sought with nicest care ; 
And last the treasures after which he'd roved 



80 OUR CHARLIE. 

And earned, to bless the little ones he loved. 

" Enough," said he, " I've gained enough and more, 

I'll stay henceforth with those I love on shore ; 

Farewell old ocean, with thy restless main, 

I ne'er shall battle with your waves again ; 

Howl, howl, mad tempest, lash the waves and roar, 

You'll no more harm me, high and dry ashore ; 

Ye winds blow, blow, snap off the shrouds and spars, 

Toss up the billows till they quench the stars, — 

'Tis nought to me, I care not for your strife, 

I'm with my children, living with my wife, 

I've now enough for life's entire supply, 

'Tis all I wish for till the day I die." 

Fire ! fire ! He wakes, — the flames are flashing 

high. 
And the red tempest lights the ebon sky ; 
Groans, cries, and tears, from terror and afli^ight. 
Fill the grand chorus of that awftil night ; 
And ere the echo of that chorus died, 
Ship, cargo, all lay silent 'neath the tide ; 
Some, for a moment, struggled with the wave, 
But baffled sunk to their unhonored grave. 
The home-bound captain, with the wealth he'd won, 
Slept midst the ashes of the Lexington. 



OUR CHARLIE. 81 

But at his home, nor sleep nor dreams had they, 
They all sat watchmg for the break of day ; 
Aurora first sent up her saffron streams, 
Red Phoebus followed with his ruddy beams ; 
Hour after hour of broad and open day, 
In quick succession came and went away. 
Till the bright daylight into twilight grew. 
And night threw o'er her dome of stars and blue, 
When tidings came, first whispered faintly round. 
The ship is lost and all on board are drowned. 
Next came the news : the ship is tempest tossed, 
Burned and chsabled, but not wholly lost ; 
Now good, now bad, the flying rumors came, — 
First, she was safe, then, perished in the flame, 
Till the dread message proved, alas ! too true, — 
The ship was lost, and all were drowned but two. 
But two ? the names ! O no ! the deed is done. 
But two are saved, but he, alas ! not one ; 
But still hope flickered, and could not go out. 
Till time passed on and brushed away the doubt. 

Ah, human wisdom, how much more divine 
Thou wouldst have done it, had the work been thine ! 
For three long years he'd suffered, toiled, and roved, 
To bless the group that he so dearly loved. 
And thou wouldst sure have wafted safe along 
Him and his treasures to the little throng. 

6 



82 OUR CHARLIE. 

Yes, human reason sees with half an eye, 
'Twas not the time for such an one to die. 

Ah ! noble reasoner, should the bolt have come, 
While he was feeling the first thrill of home ? 
If not, tell when the arrow should have sped, 
Wise seer, who canst not see an inch ahead. 



THE INVENTOR. 

A FEW years since, within a country ville, 
There lived a youth of splendid taste and skill. 
'Twas his delight, absorbed in thought profound, 
To rove invention's yet untrodden ground ; 
He loved to pierce the pall of moral night. 
And by his fiat bring out rays of light ; 
He loved to soar on thought's far-spreading wing, 
And out of chaos, perfect order bring, 
And of rude matter, at his plastic will, 
Bring out creations of consummate skill ; 
He loved to watch the gi'eat world's ceaseless buzz, 
And all the phases of the work it does, 
Then, from the mysteries that in matter lurk, 
Bring out the witcheries that can do the work ; 
He sometimes dreamed of that millennial day 
When, matter working, men shovild only play. 



OUR CHARLIE. 83 

His was a soul whose living cords were found 
In harmony always with the charms of sound ; 
The soft piano, touched with well-trained art, 
Thrilled every fibre of his tuneful heart, 
And music's spirit floated on the breeze, 
When his light finger touched the ivory keys ; 
But oft he thought, when playing Zion's lays, 
Where social groups sang to their Maker's praise. 
How sweet 'twould be if, like the organ's tones. 
His own piano's could be lengthened ones. 
Then like an organ in our social throngs 
He could play sweetly Zion's sacred songs ; 
Can some device be conjured into view. 
So that pianos can be organs too ? 
Some novel charm or new contrivance found. 
So that each key shall give a lengthened sound ? 

He sought — he found ; the youthful songster spoke. 
And out of chaos all he wanted woke. 
The world beholding in amazement stood. 
And, smiling, called the new creation '' good ; " 
Wealth flowed in streams, Pactolus-like, and brought 
A golden harvest for the achievement wrought ; 
Fame, soon as Science had his praises said. 
Wove laurelled wreaths for his unlaurelled head. 
And Science, smiling, placed his humble name 
Amono; earth's honored on the scroll of fame ; 



84 OUR CHARLIE. 

Till making rich the ones he loved at home, 
He turned his steps in foreign climes to roam, 
For fame stood beckoning on the Old World's shore, 
And fortune, smiling, asked him to come o'er. 
He went, saw, conquered. Lords and ladies smiled. 
And lavished praise on fortune's foster-child. 
Earls came to see him, dukes to hear him play. 
And prince and princess their respects to pay. 
And taste and learning hung with thrills of joy 
Upon the music of that Yankee boy. 
And England's queen, within her palace walls. 
Bade him with music charm her royal halls. 
Where'er he went, with unassuming air, 
He was the observed of all observers there. 
And public papers set the tidings down. 
When the young charmer chanced to come to town ; 
And if gross flattery could have spoiled that one. 
That youthful rover would have been undone. 
Thus honored, praised and feted and caressed. 
With new wealth added to the wealth possessed. 
Yet unseduced by flattery's siren smile, 
And unenchained to England's queenly isle. 
With thoughts of home still thrilling in his breast. 
On wino-s of love he hastened to the west, 
Where home stood brimming with bewitching charms. 
Sweet smiles, warm hearts, kind cheers, and open 
arms. 



OUR CHARLIE. 85 

Where, on the fortune God had deigned to give, 
He and his loved ones could delighted live. 

How sweet to think that merit can enjoy 
The rich full harvest of its own employ ; 
That modest merit, when the deed is done, 
Can wear the laurels it has fairly won ; 
That genius, poor, unfi'iended, and alone, 
Can sometimes reap the harvest it has sown. 
And genuine worth, by its own powers of mind. 
Grow sometimes rich and still is good and kind. 

So felt his country when her son, once more. 

Planted his foot upon his native shore. 

And all hearts wished him, with his well-earned 

wealth, 
A long, long life of happiness and health. 

He reached his home unspoiled by flattery's arts. 
And there he met with open doors and hearts ; 
Hope bade him welcome to its feasts of joy. 
And fortune smiled upon her favorite boy, 
And reason kindly called it right and wise, 
That he that earned it should enjoy the prize. 
And common sense declared 'twas very plain 
That one so worthy should enjoy the gain. 
And common justice would indignant fi'own, 



86 OUR CHARLIE. 

To cut so early conquering genius down, 

E'en at the moment when his toils have ceased, 

And he's scarce tasted of the well-earned feast. 

Ah ! human Reason, prophet, judge, and guide. 

In one short week that son of genius died. 

And that sweet home that just his welcome said. 

Now rudely pushed him fi'om its portals, dead ; 

And the rich prize for which he'd labored so. 

Dropped into hands that ne'er had struck a blow. 

And Reason frowned that Death should throw his dart, 

At such a time, at such a noble heart. 

And really rob him, though but just returned, 

Of that rich prize that he'd so nobly earned. 

But human Reason and that Christian youth 
Held different views of justice, right, and truth ; 
For on his bed, when told that he must die. 
He said, " All's well, sweet Paradise is nigh ; 
Home, home, sweet home, O ! sing me now that song, 
That on its harmony I ma^ float along ; 
Home was my dream where'er I went to roam. 
And now, O ! now, I'm really going home ; 
Wealth, fare thee well, you've had no time to get 
Your reign established in my bosom yet, 
I've wealth above, untinctured with alloy, 
That ne'er will fade nor fail to give me joy." 



OUR CHARLIE. 87 

And so he died, and with faith-hghted eye, 
He felt, he saw, 'twas just his time to die ; 
But human Reason still persists to find, 
'Tis not in harmony with the good and kind. 



THE RIGHT TIME TO DIE. 

When the Great Teacher meekly closed his eye. 
And said, " 'Tis finished," 'twas his time to die. 
His work accomplished and his mission o'er, 
Why should he linger for a moment more ? 
Heaven's portals lifted for the King to come, 
And his dear Father kindly asked him home. 

When the ripe Christian, fall of hope and love. 
And whose heart-treasures are laid up above, 
Resigned and calm lays down his aching head 
In vain for rest upon his dying bed. 
And yet whose spirit sweetly sinks to rest. 
In downy ease upon a Saviour's breast, 
Till quite forgetting he's with anguish riven. 
His spirit revels midst the joys of heaven, 
Breathes the fresh odors fanned from angel-wings, 
Lists to the music heaven's assembly sings, 
And lives in heaven with rapture all aglow, 
E'en while the body writhes in pain below. 



88 OUR CHARLIE. 

Go tell liim, friendship, living, is a boon. 
And that 'tis hard that he should die so soon ; 
He don't believe you, for 'tis all so plain. 
That to die now, would be his dearest gain ; 
And when you tell him 'tis too soon to die, 
If he make any, this is his reply: 
Fly swifter round ye lagging wheels of time, 
And waft me upward to a happier clime ; 
Avaunt, poor earth ! you're poor beyond compare, 
To that bright world just o'er the river there. 

None seeing this and hearing this would, sure, 
Say such a death is late or premature. 

But there are cases that the world observes, 
Where some few glimpses shock its moral nerves, 
And when they seem love's harmony to derange. 
As if omniscient, it exclaims, 'Tis strange ! 
When the young truant feels correction's lash. 
The eyes of love with indignation flash ; 
Why should affection plant so keen a smart, 
So inharmonious to the loving heart ? 
It grates harsh discord in aflPection's ear. 
The sigh, the cry, the shriek of woe to hear ; 
But when that child, 'neath stern affection's rule, 
Grows fond of books, of study, and of school. 
And, what is more to fond affection's eyes, 



OUR CHARLIE. 89 

Becomes more loving as he grows more wise, 
O ? then it feels, to jndge aright an act, 
One must weigh also each collateral fact, 
See if, or not, its true vibrations blend 
In faultless harmony onward to the end ; 
Thus to proud Reason, with no prescient skill. 
He kindly whispers in its ear, "Be still ! " 



THE LITTLE MARTYR. 

I KNOW a man of cultured heart and mind. 

In learning lofty and in taste refined ; 

His wife, accomplished, seems expressly sent 

To be that husband's fitting complement, 

And home is, therefore, but the magic spot. 

Where love, peace, joy, are all in harmony wrought ; 

But still affliction has presumed to come, 

And plant its anguish in that happy home. 

So oft, so keen, the arrow that was thrown, 

I scarcely dare to think about my own ; 

Four times the hearse had driven to that door. 

Till one by one it robbed that home of four ; 

One little fellow running o'er with charms 

Was dashed in pieces in his mother's arms, — 

And now that hearse was at the door again. 

To bear away the fifth young martyr slain. 



90 OUR CHARLIE. 

He was a cripple, but with heart and mind 
Of heaven's most noble and most lofty kind ; 
Though but a boy by sickness worn and wan, 
He was, in spirit, every inch a man. 

I heard the father tell the story, where 
We'd met, one evening, at the place of prayer, 
And then I wondered how, at such a blow, 
He could have borne the crushing load of woe ; 
My poor boy's death seemed but a scene of joy. 
Beside the death-pangs of that suffering boy. 

The time had come when that young sufferer's 

life 
Had but one resource — it was surgery's knife ; 
He'd suffered long, and yet the almost saint 
Had never spoke one murmur or complaint ; 
He'd borne it all for many and many an hour. 
With all a Christian's, all a martyr's, power ; 
And when the day for the new trial rose. 
And a fresh pang must mingle with his woes. 
The little hero's prayer-stayed spirit stood 
Firm as a rock that stems old ocean's flood, 
And heartless surgery scarce seemed calmer than 
The pure calm spirit of that embryo man. 



OUR CHARLIE. 91 

How stoic-like the surgeon's hand apphed 

The ghttering knife to that young martyr's side ! 

And cut and hewed again, again, again. 

Till the poor boy seemed almost cut in twain ; 

But not a groan, not one impatient word, 

Was, midst his agony, for a moment heard. 

At length 'twas done — the dreadful torture o'er, 
And stern-eyed Science quickly left the door; 
And there he lay, that little suffering child. 
And toward his parents sweetly looked and smiled. 
He dreamed of life and health and future joys. 
When he could run and walk like other boys ; 
And hope, fond hope, with its bewitching spell. 
Made him appear, just in the future, well: 
He saw himself robust in mind and frame, 
No longer sickly and no longer lame. 
And then he thanked his heavenly friend once more, 
That the dread ordeal he had passed was o'er. 
Poor boy ! he knew not agony like this. 
Compared to that so soon to come, was bliss, — 
That the dread ordeal, yet to come, would be 
The keenest pang of bitterest agony. 

In two days more, stern Science must again 
Keope the wound and reproduce the pain, — 
Nay, cause a torture so intense and keen, 



92 OUR CHARLIE. 

A fiend might weep to see the dreadful scene ; 
Yet 'twas a boy that must tliat torture bear, — 
A poor meek boy that lay all helpless there. 
The moment came, and skill again had come, 
At Science' bidding, to that weeping home. 
And, with a touch soft as it could employ. 
Dressed the dread wound of that poor suffering boy, 
And shrieks and groans that ne'er were heard before 
Now told the tortures the young sufferer bore. 

'Twas done at last, and calm and peaceful rest 
Soothed, for a moment, his o'eranguished breast; 
And yet, God help him ! — for the health he sees 
Is reached — if reached — throuo;h tortures such as 
these. 

The appointed time was almost at the door. 
When the poor victim must be tortured more ; 
And when he thought of that dread scene again, 
Of keenest torture and intensest pain. 
He said, " Dear father, is there not a way. 
To 'scape the anguish of that awflil day ? " 
'' My son, I fear not ; the physicians know. 
And say, in sorrow, that it must be so." 

" But go and ask them, if they'll not, alas I 
Permit this cup, this bitter cup, to pass." 



OUR CHARLIE. 93 



He went and came, and going to his son, 
Said, '' My dear boy, 'tis so, it must be done. 

" But you're my fatlier, you've a right to say, 
And 'tis the surgeon's duty to obey." 

" O ! my dear son, 'twould fill my heart with joy. 
Could I but suffer for my darling boy ; 
All I can do is, try my best to save 
The little life that God so kindly gave. 
God gave you life, — 'tis yours to try to live, 
Nor throw away what God has deigned to give ; 
Nor you nor I can pierce these forms we wear. 
And find disease and bring assistance there ; 
'Tis just as dangerous and as far from right. 
To work in darkness as neo;lect in lioht. 
No, 'twould be wrong to issue my command. 
And take you from the skilful surgeon's hand ; 
I cannot then ; God gives the bitter cup, 
And he will bless you, if you drink it up ; 
Think how the Saviour suffered on the tree. 
Not for his sins, but those of you and me." 

The poor boy heard, and, overwhelmed with grief, 
His whole fi:ame quivering like an aspen leaf, — 



94 OUR CHARLIE. 

" No friend to help me,'' said lie, witli a sigli, 
Then I'll ask Jesus — He will hear my cry." 

He closed his eyes, and clasped his hands, and there 
His sweet lips moved as if in silent prayer ; 
His frame grew calm, he oped his eyes and smiled, 
And said, "I've asked Him. *He will help your child." 

When, the next morn, the sm-geons oped the door, 
They found that Jesus had arrived before ; 
And there He hovered o'er the sufferer's bed. 
And calmed his heart and soothed his restless head, 
And, in a moment, with a look, all kind. 
He bore him up and left his wounds behind. 

At such a scene proud Reason shrinks away. 
And feels there's nothing it can safely say, 
'Tis mystery, all, e'en to its piercing eye, 
And if e'er fathomed, 'twill be by and by. 
E'en scepticism the verdict would not give. 
That such a suflPerer should be left to live ; 
But Christian faith sees 'tis the purest love 
That took that boy to realms of bliss above. 

He had his mission, — 'twas a noble one. 
And nobly, proudly was the mission done. 
And many a soul may reach a home of joy 



OUR CHARLIE. 95 

By seeing how faith sustained a httle boy; 
For faith ne'er helped a martyr here below 
Bear up a bitterer, heavier load of woe ; 
And few who've come on this dim earth to dwell 
Have lived and suffered and have died as well ; 
And 'twere the sheerest folly to maintain 
That such a martyr lived and died in vain. 

'Tis sweet, dear Charlie, to reflect that you 
Had no such fiery furnace to go through. 
But your pure spirit took its upward flight. 
Sweet as the twilight fades away to-night, — 
No shrieks or throes among the memories twine 
Of that pure, calm, and peaceful death of thine. 

THE TWO BROTHERS. 

An honored pair, not many years whilom, 
Lived, loved, and labored, in a happy home ; 
Their lives were sureties for their strength and health, 
And wisdom taught them how to use their wealth. 
They had two sons, — bright, active, healthy boys. 
The warmth and sunshine of their home-felt joys ; 
And 'twas to them their pride and their delight. 
To guide their minds and train their hearts aright. 
And they were trained, and they were wisely taught, 
Until from boyhood up to manhood brought ; 



96 OUR CHARLIE. 

When well prepared they went away to roam, 
Each the young patriarch of a new-formed home ; 
And happier men were never seen than they 
At their new homesteads on their wedding-day. 

Life now began, with all its calms and storms, 
With all its sweeter and its bitterer forms ; 
And which should rule, life's future good or ill. 
Must be the j)roduct of their power and skill ; 
And so they knew, and so they felt, and so 
To life's stern duties they resolved to go. 

Long years had passed, and years of change to hosts. 
But these two brothers still were at their posts ; 
Both had stood firm where myriads had been wrecked, 
And both secured men's friendship and respect ; 
But one to wealth and one to want was heir. 
Though both had toiled with equal skill and care ; 
Whene'er one struck, beneath the plastic blow 
The streams of wealth were sure to burst and flow ; 
The other smote with just as strong a stroke. 
But not a rill from the dry earth awoke, — 
Whate'er one did was sure of golden gain, 
Whate'er the other, seemed alas in vain ! 
Men thought them equal, both in power and skill. 
With equal zeal their mission to fulfil, 
But, with the contrast in their stations struck. 



OUR CHARLIE. 97 

They called it luck, or called it lack of luck ; 

Although some said a faculty was what 

A mau must have to gain a haj^py lot; 

But whate'er 'twas, one thing was very sure : 

The one was rich, the other very poor. 

Within the cottage where the poor man dwelt 

Six little sons beside his altar knelt; 

While in the mansion of the other, one 

Was all he had, — a pure and noble son. 

'Twas toil and thrift composed the poor man's stock, 

To train and clothe and feed his httle flock ; 

And scarce a day he did not feel perplexed, 

From whence would come subsistence for the next; 

And were it not he'd a kind brother near. 

Who loved to send him many a boon, to cheer 

Both cold and hunger, many a poor man's lot 

Had been familiar in that humble cot. 

The sweetest pleasure and the purest joy 
That thrilled the bosom of the rich man's boy. 
Was, when his cousins came with him to roam 
O'er his green fields and in his spacious home. 
And feast their souls on all around them stored. 
And feast their boches at his father's board. 

Oh ! 'twas a feast whene'er they went to play, 
And rove the fields upon a Summer's day ; 
7 



98 OUR CHARLIE. 

And the feast lasted not that day alone, 

But blest the hours of many a following one ; 

For joy's vibrations, days and days, were felt. 

In the thatched cottage where the poor man dwelt;' 

And when these ended, though they never ceased. 

Anticipation spread another feast. 

And in that home, with plenty unpossessed, 

The past and futm'e made the present blest. 

They loved each other, all these cousin boys, 
And love, the purest of their purest joys ; 
Their bond of love was never once untied 
By pride or envy upon either side. 
And the poor home 'scaped many a want and woe, 
Thrilled by the rich one's generous overflow. 
Still they oft suffered, for the rich know not 
How oft there's suffering in the poor man's lot ; 
One half man's miseries would be overthrown. 
Were their existence always seen and known ; 
The sensitive wish, not that their sighs and tears 
Be seen and heard by others' eyes and ears, 
And want would rather bear misfortune's blows 
Than be forever harping on its woes. 
True kindness does not reach its loftiest height, 
When soothing suffering ready brought to light, 
But when it soothes it, begging at its door ; 
And, like a Howard, goes and seeks for more. 



99 

So the ricli brother would have given the poor 

Whate'er of comfort riches could procure ; 

But life's stern duties, like huge movmtains soared 

'Twixt his kind heart and brother's scanty board. 

So busy life, like Belial's heartless priests. 

Oft keeps pure goodness from its daintiest feasts, 

As without malice thouo;htless Christians even 

Keep, by example, myi'iads out of heaven. 

'Twas at a time, when happy, light, and gay, 
The boys had met to spend a holiday, 
And they were roving in their usual rounds. 
All o'er the rich man's pleasant rural grounds ; 
The heavens grew black, as with an ebon shroud. 
And the whole sky seemed one unbroken cloud, 
The lightnings flashed, the grumbling thunder roared, 
And the full shower its dancing torrents poured. 
The laughing cousins for the covert run, 
Showers did not fright them, — they afforded ftin ; 
They hied for shelter to a grove of green. 
Where spreading branches formed a partial screen, 
And there they sat, and from that leafy bower. 
They watched the progress of that merry shower, 
^And oft looked up to see if heaven's clear blue 
Above their heads were really looking through ; 
Just then a flash, a sudden roar above. 
The red bolt sped to that . same sheltering grove ; 



100 OUR CHARLIE. 

Limb after limb was twisted off and sent 
Among the boys beneath the branches bent ; 
All were unhurt of that gay group, but one, 
He lay a corpse, — it was the rich man's son. 

The world said, Strange the red bolt was not sped 
Upon some other's than his pleasant head; 
That crowded household, had the deed been done, 
Out of its inmates, might have given one. 

Had human Reason had that bolt to throw. 
Not that kind boy had felt the fatal blow ; 
He would have bade the fatal shaft transfix. 
Out of the poor man's starving, needy six. 
Then the poor father, though of one bereft, 
Had felt he'd five bright httle fellows left; 
And Reason thinks, had he but ordered so. 
All our best instincts had approved the blow ; 
One blest with plenty would have been alive, 
And the poor household had the living five. 

O ! my dear boy ! 'twas not for human wit 
To say whose head Death's shining bolt should hit, 
For then, methinks, my little blue-eyed boy 
Had still been here to fill our home with joy. 



OUR CHARLIE. 101 



THE LITTLE GENIUS. 



There is a household that I know full well, 
Where two fond parents love-cemented dwell ; 
In that sweet home, while it was fresh and young, 
A beauteous boy of golden promise sprung ; 
But the fond bosom, where it first was pressed. 
At length went up to throb among the blest. 
Another came, and that beloved son 
Found it as downy as the natural one. 
The first had flown, like some enchanting bird, 
But its sweet echoes still each bosom stirred. 
And the new voice, in perfect harmony set. 
Changed the old trio to a new quartette. 

Whate'er life's toils, perplexities, and cares, , 

A happy home of buoyant hearts was theirs. 

And had Religion not been there to check, 

Joy's dancing life-boat might have been a wreck ; 

But she was there, and ruled the helm so well 

That they were happy whatsoe'er befell. 

E'en from the first the prophecy began 

That that young boy would be no common man ; 

The fire of Genius, like Isaiah's coal. 

Fresh from her altar, kindled his young soul. 

And as along throuirh bovhood he careered, 



102 OUR CHARLIE. 

Fresh scintillations at each step appeared, 
And feats of skill, by him contrived and planned. 
Leaped into being from his cunning hand ; 
And young Invention, starting at his will. 
Showed magic worthy of a veteran's skill ; 
And books allured, and learning had her charms. 
And Truth bewitching clasped him in her arms. 
And though, boy-like, of play and sport brimful. 
He was a star in social life and school. 
Unlike those strange, precocious things of earth 
That come like Pallas, all equipped at birth, 
Who, men in boyhood, dazzle earth, and then 
Play out their manhood, and grow stupid men. 
He, ever active, never, like a shirk. 
Left intuition to perform the work, 
Nor wished to find, however toil might frown, 
A royal road to honor and renown. 

Health, rosy goddess, by preemptive claim. 
Reigned in each fibre of his manly frame. 
And seemed to say, as with a prophet tongue. 
That that bright genius would not perish young. 

Religion's spirit, like the falling dew, 

Dropped on his heart and thrilled it through and 

through. 
And his young being, with her spirit fraught, 



OUR CHARLIE. 103 

Seemed all in harmony with the truths she taught ; 
The little altar that he'd reared to Heaven 
Ne'er lacked his presence either morn or even, 
And life with him, e'en while but yet a boy. 
Was full of play, but fliller of employ ; 
Work, study, frolic, piety, and play. 
All wreathed in harmony, filled each passing day, 
And all believed, who used his life to scan. 
That such a boy would be a useful man. 

Ah ! that home knew not how much of its joy 
Sprang from the gift of such a noble boy ; 
For if high hopes had ever cause to start 
And fill the chambers of a parent's heart, 
'Tw^as these two bosoms, in whose down that boy 
So oft had nestled for his feast of joy. 
And, with life's sun declining in the west. 
They hoped, in turn, to nestle in his breast. 

Cold, shivering Winter had begun to show 
Signs of relenting, with its frost and snow ; 
The snow-banks swooned, and frost's chill fetters 

broke. 
And rills unnumbered into action woke ; 
First silver threads come trickling down the way, 
Then others join, and down the hill-sides play. 
Till, reinforced by swooning ice and snow, 



104 OUR CHARLIE. 

They swell to torrents, and like torrents flow, 

And rush and leap, resistless in their track. 

Until they plunge within the Merrimack ; 

And others come that young Niagaras seem, 

That plough their way and plunge within the stream, 

Till the old river, from these fierce attacks. 

Swells to the size of twenty Merrimacks, 

And its green valley seems at length to be. 

Not a green valley, but an inland sea ; 

And lo ! at length, the swelling waters come 

Within the precincts of that happy home, 

And in scooped hollows fiercely plunging, make 

In many a field full many a mimic lake. 

Our little genius, merrier than a lark. 

Had built his craft, and hastened to embark. 

And, as commander, he began to make 

A hasty voyage around the little lake, 

But the young helmsman, steering from the strand, 

Like Palinurus, never came to land. 

That day at school the little boys discussed 

The different ways that dust returns to dust ; 

Each tyro told how he'd prefer to die, 

And gave his reasons, all substantial, why ; 

Each chose the way, whene'er life's journey ceased, 

Whose sufferings were, in his opinion, least ; 



OUR CHARLIE. 105 

And little Henry told, at last, his views, 
And what the mode of dying he would choose ; 
Methinks, to go within the crystal wave 
Would be the easiest passage to the grave ; 

! when I go, if God should think it best, 
Let me be rocked within the waves to rest. 
Where unassailed by sickness' ghastly train, 
And all unscarred by violence or by pain, 

1 may lie down within the crystal deep 
As calm and life-like as if fallen asleep ; 
Then, when fond love shall look its last adieu, 
I shall not be a loathsome thing to view. 

But pleasant object over which they'll bend. 
And love to think of to their journey's end. 

That very day, ere eve her dews had shed, 
Henry was lying in his watery bed. 

Had human Reason guided at the helm. 
And been the Neptune of that watery realm. 
He would have bidden Henry's little boat 
Bear its freight safely o'er the lake afloat ; 
Then, when the frolic and the sail were o'er. 
Bring the young mariner safe and sound ashore ; 
Or, if a victim must be taken, take 
Some ragged boy and plunge him in the lake ; 
And man, wise man, without a moment's pause, 
Had given the deed his heartiest applause. 



106 OUR CHARLIE. 

And hast thou, man, the wisdom to divine 

Which had been best, God's providence or thine ? 

Who, though thou triest until the " crack of doom," 

Canst never pierce one inch beyond the tomb ; 

Nor thouMi with sao-es and with seers to guide. 

Hast power to pierce one inch ahead this side. 

'Tis not God's way. His glory to insure. 

To deal His vengeance only on the poor. 

Nor when he deals an unexpected blow. 

Smite only those who're unprepared to go ; 

Nor yet, whene'er he bids a mortal come, 

Take but the stupid and the vicious home. 

He sees each link of cause's endless chain. 

And feels each pulse throughout his broad domain, 

And knows exactly, by an errless test. 

What Providence is wisest, kindest, best. 

And the wise parent, howe'er sad, is awed. 

And feels 'tis best to leave it all to God. 



THE ONLY SON. 

I KNEW a mother, polished and refined, 

Grace thrilled her heart, and learnino; filled her 

mind, — 
A model lady, modest, kind, and true, — 



OUR CHARLIE. 107 

Beloved, admired by every one that knew. 

She had one son, a bright and blooming boy, 

To train whom rightly was her highest joy ; 

Not weak and blind, 'twas with a lynx-eyed skill, 

She watched his faults and trained his stubborn will. 

Pruned each excrescence, checked each tortuous 

growth. 
To make all vigorous and symmetric both ; 
And all that saw, foretold, with seer-like joy, 
A life of honor for that noble boy. 
And that fond mother prayed and taught and toiled, 
That her dear boy might not be praised and spoiled. 

The child was ill, and round his weary bed 

She bent and moved with quick and careful tread, 

Watched every symptom, every light and shade. 

And the best skill invited to his aid ; 

And as she saw him daily fade away 

And still grow weaker each succeeding day. 

Earth's hopes, joys, treasures, all alike grew dim. 

For if her boy died, all would die with him. 

O ! how she prayed that her dear child might live, - 

The sweetest boon that God had power to give ! 

But still he languished, still from day to day 

She saw him sadly droop and fade away ! 

Till the sad truth before her seemed to ope: 

Your boy must die, there is no longer hope ; 



108 OUR CHARLIE. 

Then, in tlie blackness of her de^p despair, 

She bowed and knelt and shrieked aloud her prayer: 

" God spare my child, — O I spare my darling son ; 
God spare my boy, — he is my only one ; 
Take any blessing from me, O ! my God, 
But spare my boy, and I will kiss the rod ; 
Deny all else, whate'er the blessing be. 
But leave my own dear darling boy to me. 
I must not lose him, O ! withhold the blow — 
O, spare the child — I cannot let him go." 

She could not say, — Spare my beloved son, — 
"Yet not as I will — let thy will be done, — " 
And so God spared him, as the mother prayed ; 
O ! 'twas a miracle, everybody said. 
The kind physicians gave the matter o'er. 
They'd done their utmost, and they could, no more, 
And they had told her, — told her with a sigh, 
Skill has done all, — your little boy must die. 
And when God saved him, suffering, dying there. 
The mother felt that God had heard her prayer. 

And so he lived, — and twenty years from then. 
That boy lay chained within a felon's den. 
And justice waited at the outer door. 
To swing him off and all would then be o'er i 



OUR CHARLIE. 109 

And but one joy was with lier sorrows blent : 
'Twas that her poor son died a penitent. 

O ! my poor boy, upon the bended knee, 
With all our hearts, how warm our prayers for thee ! 
And then we prayed that God would let us give 
Our own lives up, if our dear boy might live ; 
We dared not say, — We cannot spare our son. 
But always added, — "Let thy will be done." 
And when God took thee and refused our prayer. 
We felt he did it to attract us there. 

And ever since, we've felt it in the heart. 
We soon shall meet thee, never more to part ; 
And then we think that God did hear us pray. 
And gave the blessing in the heavenliest way. 
We prayed that Charlie might continue ours. 
To make life pleasant within home's sweet bowers, 
The prayer was heard, — the blessing will be given, — 
To bless life's future in our home in heaven. 



BENEFIT OF AFFLICTIONS. 

Ah, me ! how sorrow will the bosom scathe. 
That is too wise to need the aid of faith, 
To yield obedience to a blind command, 



no OUR CHARLIE. 

Or take a truth it cannot understand. 
When sorrow comes, the bitter is complete, 
Unintermingled with a single sweet ; 
The stoic Will, with anaesthetic care. 
May blunt the soul till it has power to bear, 
Or time's attritions wear the edge of grief. 
Till the sad heart-throes issue in rehef. 
It does not heed, or else it is to spurn, 
The usefal lesson sorrow gives to learn, 
And so no crown is given him for the cross, 
And no gain issues from the dreadful loss ; 
He loses, when affliction drops from heaven. 
The sweetest lesson God has ever given. 

O ! sweet Affliction, when we use it right. 
It brings a feast of unalloyed delight. 
And in this hfe how few of all that weep, 
The glorious harvest, sorrow offers, reap ! 
When mind gets tangled in the web of thought. 
How sweetly faith can cut the Gordian knot ! 
When dear ones leave us, and from earth remove, 
Faith whispers sweetly, it was done in love ; 
And what we cannot understand below. 
Faith kindly comes and freely lets us know. 
Our Charlie died ; — the fact alone was plain. 
The cause and purpose nothing could explain. 
Till faith assured us it was done in love. 



OUR CHARLIE. Ill 

To bid us look to purer joys above. 

Are earth's attractions fewer or less fair ? 

Heaven's are more numerous now that he is there. 

One of the sweetest sources of your joy 

Was sweet communion with your darling boy ; 

You need not lose it, — still commune, and this 

Will help attract you to a home of bliss ; 

You've darlings yet, — let not an earthly love 

Outdraw the ties attracting you above ; 

Another blow might be, in kindness, sent, 

Another bond of earthly love be rent ; 

The traveller meets more dangers here below 

Who moves in pleasure than who wades in woe. 

Prosperity has led more souls astray 

Than its black rival ever frowned away. 

Our little ones, the source of so much joy. 

Oft siren-like enchant us and destroy. 

And our kind Father, full of pity, sees, 

Strikes down the siren, and the captive frees. 

When life goes well, how pleasant poor earth seems, 

Fair as a landscape that we see in di'eams ; 

And e'en the good man, without some rebuff, 

Acts as if life were really quite enough. 

But let him lose some dear and precious things, 

Let wealth fly off upon its yellow wings. 

Let his sweet children from his heart be rent, 

Or dear companions into darkness sent. 



112 OUR CHARLIE. 

And then he thinks of bright possessions lost, 
And dreams of brighter on a heavenly coast ; 
And then he thinks of his dear ones above, 
And then of Him whose very name is love. 
And feels when he, on Jordan's further side. 
Wakes with His likeness, he'll be satisfied. 



THE MERCHANT. 

I KNEV^ a man, and loved him as a friend. 
And watched his history to his journey's end ; 
With a clear head and genial heart, he moved 
Midst friends and kindred, loving and beloved. 
The fields of Science and the fields of Art 
Possessed few witcheries for his mind and heart ; 
He sought for knowledge, not the most or least, 
'Twas not to him a penance or a feast. 
So my friend fed on Science and on Art, 
But to gain strength for what he had at heart ; 
And that he gained sufficient for the strife 
That traffic brings along the path of life, — 
Two objects always beckoned him before, 
First to be rich, then liberal with his store : 
By thrift and labor, study, toil, and care. 
To gain the station of a mllllonnaire ; 
And both while gaining, and of wealth possessed. 



OUR CHARLIE. 118 

To use it freely, making others blest. 
Not love of fame inspired his heart alone. 
For genuine kindness had, within, a throne , 
And to have wealth, and having, not to give, 
Had made it misery, made it woe, to live ; 
And with a heart as generous as his own, 
Joy had died out to share his wealth alone. 

Thus he began and wealth flowed in apace. 

And streams flowed out earth's sorrows to efface ; 

And though gain was not at life's board the least, 

Yet Charity was the dessert of the feast. 

But year by year trade multiplied affairs. 

And added business brought him added cares. 

And just inversely as his gains increased. 

The pleasant dessert vanished at the feast. 

Not that he meant, as long as he should live. 

To lose the luxury that it gave, to give ; 

But fortune's favors so like sirens smiled. 

His hours were captured and his thoughts beguiled ; 

And suffering found it harder every year 

To tell its story and to gain his ear, 

For whene'er going to the Merchant's door, , 

They found that business had gone in before. 

All went on smoothly, — Commerce's merry sails 
Seemed always filled with only prosperous gales ; 



114 OUR CHARLIE. 

Gain came so flnsli, it took liim night and day, 
To count the sum, and stow the sum away, 
Until, at length, with all his treasures there, 
Men set him down a solid millionnaire. 

And on he moved, as smoothly as a dream, 
Down the gay current of life's merry stream ; 
Wealth filled his coffers ever brimming o'er, 
And each new moment only added more ; 
Adversity ne'er mingled Avith his lot, 
Till he had almost such a thing forgot. 
And life, all lovely as the hues of even, 
Seemed good enough, without a future heaven. 
His earthly feast was so surpassing sweet. 
He qviite forgot some had but crumbs to eat ; 
And worse than this, he'd quite forgot that some, 
E'en his near neighbors, had not e'en a crumb.. 
Thus 'midst the billows of old Traffic tost. 
He did not dream how much he daily lost. 

But God looked on with all a father's care. 
And saw the dangers that beset him there. 
And — out of pity, out of love, 'twas done — 
Struck down his only well-beloved son ; 
And said, " Perhaps, if I remove a part 
Of all the cares that cluster round his heart. 
He will, once more, poor Sorrow's patron be, 
And e'en, perhaps, may give his heart to me. 



■ OUR CHARLIE, 115 

! how the father stao-o-ered 'neath that stroke ! 
With a sad heart — alas ! 'twas almost broke — 
He tried, in vain, amidst affliction's blows, 

To bear his burdens and endure his woes ; 

At last he roused him, and he said I can, 

And I will be, from this good hour, a man. 

And then, more deeply plunging in affairs. 

He banished sorrow by his added cares. 

And bidding business take each wish and thought. 

His pangs were hushed and all his woes forgot ; 

Or if, perhaps, his sorrows, half suppressed. 

Did sometimes grate harsh discord in his breast, 

Seen on the canvas of his pictured bliss, 

It only seemed an ugly cicatrice. 

And life passed on as merry as a di^eam. 

And gain came flowing in a yellow stream. 

And then he thought, if he did think, how strange ! 

There are no poor folks ! what has caused the 

change ? 
They used to come — whole flocks of ragged poor — 
Around my warehouse and my mansion door, 
And I would give them, till their sorrows ceased. 
And always found that 'twas my sweetest feast ; 

1 lose it now, — the dessert, once so sweet, — 
We have no poor, and want is obsolete. 
Poor man ! — it never entered in his mind, 



116 OUR CHARLIE. 

That want was near him, but himself was Wind, — 

Nay, within hearing, on her ragged bed, 

A mother starved, and children cried for bread ; 

But time passed smoothly, princely fortune smiled, 

And her rich treasures in his coffers piled. 

And the poor rich man scarce, if ever, thought 

He was not doing everything he ought. 

But God still watched him, and he loved him so, 

To make him blest. He struck another blow : 

Storms dashed his ships upon the treacherous rocks. 

Fires swept his stores and bankruptcy his stocks ; 

His princely fortune dwindled to a speck. 

With but a pittance gathered from the wreck, 

Yet with that pittance, freed from crushing cares, 

He was far richer than our millionnaires ; 

He found joy's feast far sweeter than before. 

And the old dessert on his board once more ; 

Want came around as plenty as whilom, 

And found him in at counting-house and home ; 

His treasures now — he saw them up above : 

His little boy was looking down in love, 

And best of all, the Man of Sorrows bent. 

And smiled upon him, wheresoe'er he went, 

And he ne'er ceased, until life's final close. 

To thank his God for those two stunnino; blows. 



OUR CHARLIE. 117 

Affliction, O ! thou messenger of love, 
Sent down to bid us lift our thoughts above, 
When thou didst come and rend the ties apart, 
That bound ourselves and Charlie heart to heart. 
The pulse of sorrow for an instant stopped. 
And not a crystal from its fountain dropped. 

When the cold lead, from Berdan's rifle shot. 
Ploughs through his form, the victim heeds it not ; 
The nerves must rally and be brought in act, 
Ere the brave man is conscious of the fact. 

We saw him sick, and watched him night and day, 

And saw him wasting, wasting slow away. 

His languor spreading as his strength decreased, 

And his breath shortening, till his breathing ceased ; 

And then we saw him lying, through the day, 

A worthless thing, — a lifeless lump of clay. 

We got a coffin, very rich and fair, 

Of polished rosewood, and we laid him there ; 

Then bore him off, and gently laid him by. 

In the green homestead where our dear ones lie. 

And where, thank God, when He shall think it best, 

We hope to go, and with them sweetly rest. 

And then we turned and rode away, and this, 

Without one kiss, — the usual parting kiss, — 

Rode off and left him, nevermore to come. 



118 OUR CHARLIE. 

And meet, or greet, or kiss us at sweet home, — 
Rode off and left him rudely, vilely thrust 
In the cold grave, to mingle with the dust. 

But O ! not yet our bosoms had begun 

To feel the absence of our darling one. 

Nor half appreciate, staggering 'neath the cross. 

The fearful import of the dreadful loss. 

Nor even feel the expectation vain. 

That our dear boy might yet come home again. 

But time moved on, and every moment brought 

Some fresh memorial that our child was not, 

Showed us some record upon memory's leaf, 

That added anguish to our load of grief; 

And, to this day, our bosoms, sorrow-tossed. 

But just begin to feel how much Ave lost. 

We might have plunged more deep in earth's affairs, 
Assumed new duties, new pursuits, and cares. 
Till all absorbed in every wish and thought. 
We had our darling; and our woes foro-ot ; 
But we could not, — God did it, and we meant 
To find the meanine: of the messaoe sent. 

With faith's keen eye, we followed the dear boy. 
Through the dark valley, to his home of joy ; 
We saw him seated on his little throne. 



OUR CHARLIE. 119 

All ready, waiting, for our darling one, 

And then we gazed, if we might haply trace, 

The fadeless charms that deck the Holy Place, 

And tried to find the source of beauty there. 

That made each object so exceeding fair ; 

And source of bliss within that realm of rest, 

That makes each being so completely blest. 

We found heaven's bliss and charms on every side 

Were but the radiance from the Crucified, 

And should that radiance vanish from its bowers, 

Heaven would be dim as this poor earth of ours ; 

And while we gazed, our hearts seemed knit in 

love 
With the pure spirits and their bliss above. 
And then we felt 'twould cause a throb of pain. 
To come and rove this dull, cold earth again ; 
And when we came, our dear old homestead seemed 
Not half so pleasant as before we deemed. 
And one sweet soiu'ce of pleasure every day 
Was sadly blotted, rudely swept away. 

And now we oftener lift oui' thoughts above, 
And earth seems now to have far less to love. 
But all the charms, from earth's gay landscape riven. 
Are now transported to the realms of heaven ; 
And oft we long; to have the moment come. 
When we and ours shall all get safely home. 



120 OUR CHARLIE. 



And now we feel we've found the reason why 
Our dear, dear Charhe had so young to die ; 
God grant we may not, whate'er else we do, 
Lose both our Charlie and the blessing too. 



THE PASTOR. 

He was my Pastor, and I loved him well ; 

His teachings still within my bosom dwell. 

And if I ever reach the fields of heaven, 

I shall owe much to his wise counsels given. 

His was a frame, strong, stalwart, hale, and vast, 

And after Nature's manliest pattern cast. 

His was a mind capacious, mighty, keen. 

That grappled truths and fathomed what they mean ; 

And his a heart whose pulses used to play. 

Sweet as an angel's, and as pure as they. 

Like a huge train, his ponderous mind required 

To be supplied with fuel and be fired ; 

But when it moved, there's nothing could attack 

And stop the train, and throw it from the track ; 

The dust of error might obscure the rails. 

He blew it from them and outstripped the gales. 

Like a huge steamer on the sea of truth. 

He ploughed the waves, however rough or smooth ; 



OUR CHARLIE. 121 

Calm as old Neptune, at the helm he sat, 

And watched Truth's polestar, for he steered by 

that. 
The wrecker Error might false lights employ. 
To lure him on the breakers and destroy ; 
It could not lure him, for he saw and knew 
Which lights were false, and which were right and 

true ; 
He knew the chart and every reef and rock. 
And shelf and quicksand, to the very dock. 

Not sour, morose, and sombre and severe, 

He loved gay converse and he loved good cheer ; 

But, while unbending, never went so far. 

He gave sweet duty either strain or scar. 

Thus was our pastor to our hearts allied, 

A boon companion and a prudent guide. 

And so we loved him, — loved him, for we felt 
He prayed for us, whene'er he meekly knelt ; — 
Loved, for we knew the mighty mind he bore 
Dug from truth's mine the richest, purest ore ; — 
Loved, for his bosom used to bound or melt. 
In harmony with the joy or w^oe we felt ; 
And last, we loved him, if for nought beside, 
Because we could not help it, if we tried. 



122 OUR CHARLIE. 

His yoiithftil liome was a most cliarming realm, 
For he'd an angel with him at the helm, 
And little cherubs, starting up between. 
Made it a very, very hallowed scene. 
But soon that angel took her upward flight. 
And bore off' with her many a ray of light ; 
And the young cherubs, robbed of one sweet nest. 
Came warmly nestling in the father's breast. 

Well I remember — though 'tis many years — 
How the man melted to a child in tears, 
And how the Christian, getting aid from God, 
Bowed meekly down, and smiling, kissed the rod ; 
And thouMi earth seemed all covered with a bliojht. 
Heaven seemed more full of beauty and delight. 

Time passed, and home, though still a sweet retreat. 

Lacked one rich source of much that made it sweet. 

When lo ! an angel gliding to the realm. 

Sweet as the lost one, mildly seized the helm ; 

And cherubs came, fresh cherubs from above. 

And filled that home, full as before, with love. 

But God appeared in kindness as before, 

And filled that home with sio-hs and tears once more : 

Two cherubs melted one by one away, 

Like crystal dew-drops in a summer day. 

And Mercy's angel seemed new founts to ope 



L. 



OUR CHARLIE. 123 

Of manly patience and of Christian hope ; 

And they did drink, and by His presence awed, 

Like parents wept, hke Christians kissed the rod ; 

And when God rent those tender ties apart, 

They felt Him saying, ^' Son, give me thy heart ; " 

And though earth's feast became less rich and sweet, 

They now had manna fresh from heaven to eat. 

The first two cherubs (how the young do groAv !) 
Had grown too old to be called cherubs now ; 
One was a man of no degenerate stock, 
But a true chip of the paternal block. 
Well-trained and taught in science and in art. 
And with grace early planted in his heart. 
He, frdl of vigor, frill of hope, began. 
Just at man's threshold, to enact the man. 
And friend and kindred, full of hope and joy. 
Looked to the friture of that manly boy. 

Away from home, but not from those that loved. 
For Friendship found him wheresoe'er he moved. 
And with " Excelsior " on his flag unfurled. 
He now began to grapple with the world. 
A loving grandsire standing at his side. 
His steadfast friend, Avise counsellor, and guide. 
Health's buoyant spirit seemed his frame to fill, 
And every fibre of his being thrill ; 



124 OUR CHARLIE. 

And had an artist wished a model, who 
Might sit for health, the genuine and the true, 
'Twould have inspired him with delight and joy, 
To find so stalwart and robust a boy. 

One day he drooped, and friendship thought 'twas best 

The wounded one should have a day of rest. 

Nor had a doubt that nought was needed more. 

To bring him back as vigorous as before ; 

And still he drooped, yet none saw danger there. 

Or aught was needed but a little care ; 

But still he drooped, yet no one deemed him ill 

Enough to ask a kind pliysician's skill; 

And still he drooped, till friendship thought it wise. 

To call in skill to counsel and advise. 

The grandsire came, and neighbors came, and still 

None thought him other than a little ill ; 

But prudence whispered, — send the tidings home, 

And let the father, if he pleases, come. 

He came, he saw, and looked the matter o'er. 

And thought his boy would soon be out once more ; 

As drooping flowers need but a little rain. 

Or little sun, to blush and bloom again. 

And so he needed only care and rest, 

And in a short time he'd be convalesced ; 

And so he left, brimful of hope and joy. 

To think no danger seemed to threat his boy; 



OUR CHARLIE. 125 

And lie went, therefore, to liis childhood's home, 

Where his own sh'e was waiting him to come. 

Intending, when that duty should be done. 

On his return, to call and see his son. 

He went, he came, and, on arriving, said, 

" How is my son ? " " Alas ! your son is dead ! " 

" Dead ? God forbid " — the stoutest heart would 

melt. 
To feel that moment what the father felt ; 
A red bolt leaping from a cloudless sky 
Were not more sudden than that he should die. 

! how the father staggered 'neath the stroke. 
And how the Christian from its mastery broke ! 

" And but for one sad thought," said he, — '' but one, 

1 could, with rapture, say, ' Thy will be done.' 
None thought him sick, — himself, or friends, or I, 
While at that moment ill enough to die. 

None thought him sick, and, therefore, none applied 
The needful thing, and so, alas ! he died. 

" All that I have, and all expect, I'd give. 
If I could know, ' he'd a fair chance to live,' 
'Tis that that kills me — that that barbs the dart. 
That now is rankling in my bleeding heart. 
O ! solve this doubt, and I'll be satisfied. 
Although the first-born of my youth has died ; 
I'll kiss the hand by which the blow was given, 



126 OUR CHARLIE. 

Glad I can feel my darling is in heaven. 
But O ! these doubts the deepest anguish give, 
There is a doubt, ' he'd a fair chance to live.' 
This wounds the wound inflicted by the loss. 
This plants a cross within the dreadful cross ; 
And if grace e'er can heal the dreadful sore, 
This keener wound would rankle at its core ; 
And if it make the cross more light to bear. 
This second cross will still keep crushing there." 

Thus mourned the father, and is mourning yet, 
That, " peradventure," he can ne'er forget. 
And though time long has gathered round the doubt, 
And spread its mists and twilight hues about, 
Yet memory often sends its vision through. 
Sees the dread doubt and feels the woe anew. 
And sighs, " Alas ! will nought the assurance give 
That my dear boy had a fair chance to live ? " 

'Tis ever thus, methinks, 'tis ever thus. 
When dear ones die, such fears will torture us ; 
Things that we could, but did not, might have proved 
The very means of saving those we loved ; 
And things we did, we often have our fears, 
Were just the ones that laid them on their biers. 
Each may be true in all its fulness, still 
We're but the agents carrying out His will ; 



OUR CHARLIE. 127 

The rock on which joy's vessel should be wrecked 

Is conscious guilt in action or neo-lect : 

The tender conscience feels the keenest stino-s 

From what the common deems indiflPerent things ; 

The common conscience deems the guiltless man, 

Who thinks and acts as wisely as he can ; 

The tender feels the guilt, if any, lies 

Back of the act in not becoming wise ; 

And where's the man beneath yon azure sky, 

'Gainst whom this charge does not most justly lie ? 

Few are the parents but would do their best. 

To save the dear one nestling in their breast ; 

And fewer still who, in the retrospect, 

Find no wrong done, no blunder, no neglect. 

The most devoted, angel-hearted one 

Sees most his faults and duties left undone : 

The polished surface shows the stain or spot, 

Where the unpolished and the dim would not. 

Sin always seems to its committer's eyes 

Of magnitude inversely as its size ; 

The little boy at the first moral stain. 

Feels the intense st agony and pain ; 

When travelling further in the downward road. 

Though huge as Atlas, he feels not the load ; 

The road to guilt grows steeper by degrees, 

Till greatest loads are borne with greatest ease, 

Till when a veteran in the fiend's emj)loy, 



128 OUR CHARLIE. 

He gets from sin his only thrills of joy. 
Ah ! weeping father, let it soothe the smart, 
That these, your fears, denote an honest heart. 

Ah ! not a day, — nay, scarce an hour, has passed, 
Shice our dear Charlie gently breathed his last. 
But thought, unbidden, in our bosom starts, 
And sadly whispers to our aching hearts, — 
Had this been done, or that been left undone, 
You might e'en now have had a darling son ; 
'Tis this makes sorrow's fountains overflow, 
'Tis this adds anguish to our cup of woe. 

Faith bids us bear and kiss affliction's rod. 

And says, — be still, it is the will of God. 

Has it a power to hush the dreadful thought 

Of fancied errors we ourselves have wroucj;ht ? 

Has it a balm to soothe the soul that aches. 

From its unmeant omissions and mistakes ? 

O ! yes ; faith groups them to the chariot given 

To waft our dear one safely up to heaven ; 

But if the sentry falls asleep or strays. 

And the grim monster enters in and slays. 

No common faith, e'en with its heavenliest arts, 

Can soothe the sorrows of the guilty hearts. 

Old time may soothe, — it never can efface 

"What conscious guilt on memory's page may trace, 



OUR CHARLIE. 129 

And God forgive, although the sinner may 
Forgive himself not, till his dying day. 

O ! my dear boy, the fear will sometimes start, 
That 'twas our fault that severed us apart. 
Some well-meant act or some unmeant neglect 
Were the dread rocks on which our joys were 

^^Tecked ; 
But thou, bov, know'st we had been glad to give 
Our lives, our all, if thou couldst only live ; 
But 'tis a sorrow we expect to have. 
Till we lie down oblivious in the grave. 

Well, 'tis no matter, sorrow may annoy, 
'Tis not so dangerous in this world as joy ; 
The whitest robes that spirits wear above. 
Are made of sorrow by the hand of love. 
And many happiest floated to the skies 
On sorrow's tear-drops and affliction's sighs. 

Then let us weep and think about our boy. 
No tears of ours shall mar another's joy ; 
We'll weep alone, and tell our griefs the while. 
And with our friends we'll always wear a smile. 
Or if our sorrows will peep out beneath. 
Out of those smiles we'll make an extra wreath ; 
We'll speak, if speaking of our little one, 



130 OUR CHARLIE. 

Of something cunning by him said or done ; 
And while conversing, we'll be cheerful even, 
And speak of him as our sweet boy in heaven, 
And tell how much it swells our present joy. 
To think we have had such a darling boy. 

The burdened heart, though often it conceals. 
Sometimes betrays the sorrow that it feels ; 
Grief, all unconscious of its tears and sighs. 
Tells its tale oft to other people's eyes. 
And one sad spirit midst the gay and glad. 
May, without meaning, make the circle sad. 

When we laid Charlie in our flmeral bowers. 

The sympathetic mingled tears with ours. 

And friendship kindly gathered at our side. 

And shared the griefs we had not power to hide ; 

And 'twas a solace mourners only know. 

And many a pang was taken from our woe. 

But the first gush, when sorrow calls for aid. 

Has passed away, and the due offering made ; 

Henceforth, our hearts must, as the woe's our own. 

Know their own sorrows and must bear alone. 

Then let us weep, — it shall be silent grief. 

Its history's written on no open leaf. 

We'll try our best, no thrill of woe shall dart 



OUR CHARLIE. 131 

Outside ourselves, to pierce another's heart ; 
And in all circles it shall be our care, 
No gloom shall enter from our presence there. 
Grief seldom injures, from its normal flow, 
And tears but smooth the rugged path of woe ; 
They never injure, ne'er inflict a wrong, 
Save when intruders where they don't belong; 
But where they do, they're angels in disguise, 
That bring down manna kindly from the skies. 
And although weeping may endure a night, 
Joy comes in bounding with the morning light. 

Although we weep till we with Charlie sleep, 
'Twill do no injury, 'twill do good, to weep ; 
The danger comes not, our own histories tell, 
From loving earth too little, but too well. 

We know Heaven has, within e'en earthly bowers, 

Set all along the purest, sweetest flowers ; 

Home has its charms, though of one source bereft. 

And little ones are in its precincts left. 

And sure as Phoebus rises in the east. 

We have an oftener than a daily feast ; 

And heartiest thanks we, to our Father, give. 

That He still lets us with our dear ones live ; 

But O ! me thinks, when looking down below. 

He says, " Come up, 'twill be no cross to go." 



132 OUR CHARLIE. 



THE HAPPY FAMILY. 

I HAVE two friends — I feel they're friendly yet, 

Although for years we have not even met, 

The nicest culture, both of heart and mind, 

Has made them genial, erudite, refined ; 

Their home is decked with beauty, taste, and 

thought. 
And made by them a most enchanting spot. 
And social life gets many and many a gem. 
And many a thrill of purest joy from the i. 
In public life, not giddy and elate. 
He served with honor his old native state, 
And that old state, out of her loyal hosts. 
Called him to many of her highest posts ; 
And, wheresoe'er consenting to embark 
On any duty, always left his mark ; 
And like a Goldsmith, with a skill inborn. 
Attempted nothing he did not adorn. 

She was a lady, — not by courtesy one, 

The fact beamed out like sunshine from the sun ; 

Intellio;ence fi'om everv feature beamed. 

And the soul's magic through each avenue streamed ; 

In form and feature, act and speech and air. 

The graces clustered sweetly everywhere ; 



OUR CHARLIE. 183 

For culture seemed to shape each thought that stirred, 
And then to shape each pure expressive word ; 
And taste, outsprmging from the cultured soul, 
Shed its bland influence and adorned the whole ; 
And harmless humor, in its merry play. 
Tinged e'en the sombre often w^ith the gay. 
And gave to converse, when she bore a part. 
So sweet a zest, it always reached the heart. 

And they were Christians, both the man and wife,- — 
Pure Christians, both in theory and in life. 
He was devout, in word and thought and air. 
Without one tinge of the ascetic there ; 
She, ever smiling, shed good cheer about. 
Without one glimmer of the undevout. 

Young spirits flitted fi'om yon azure dome. 

And gayly lighted in this happy home ; 

One came and carolled many a roundelay. 

Knit to their hearts, and then it flew away. 

Another came, a little cherub thing. 

To chant the lays the first had ceased to sing. 

Love, writhing yet with sad bereavement's smart, 

Took the young comer to its opening heart ; 

And when at length the new-formed ties had twined. 

And the new cherub in its heart was shrined. 

The little stranger sang its farewell strain, 

And left home writhing with its w^oes again. 



134 OUR CHARLIE. 

Another came, pure as a flake of snow, 

Ere sorrow's tears had ceased, alas ! to flow. 

Joy's merry pulses now began to play. 

Before, alas I poor sorrow's died away ; 

The parent feels the noblest, brightest son 

Can't fill the void left by the buried one ; 

The soul ne'er makes a harmony half so fine 

As when joy's notes and sorrow's notes combine ; 

Nor lives a life so lovely and so sweet. 

As when the two, to check each other, meet. 

The loveliest picture artist ever made. 

Had not all light, but mingling light and shade ; 

So, to my friends, should this fresh love-bud stay. 

And bless their household to their dying day, 

The little ones, whose stay was made so brief, 

"Would ever live on faithful memory's leaf. 

And so life's future, onward to its even, 

Will be made up of mingled earth and heaven ; 

And when well weighed according to their worth, 

Heaven in the end will swallow up the earth. 

O ! how they prayed that this young bud might 

bloom 
In adult sweetness ere it reached the tomb ! 
And how they prayed that by this blessing awed 
They might more wholly give themselves to God ! 



OUR CHARLIE. 135 

And that their love for this fresh blessing given 
Be so much added to their Sire's in heaven ! 
O ! how they watched, each mental bud to find, 
From the rich mould of childhood's opening mind, 
Or to behold the tender outshoots start. 
Warmed into being by the virgin heart ! 
And how harmonious, more and more each day. 
The soul's machinery seemed to work and play I 
And how they found, as loving parents can. 
Proofs that the boy would live and be a man ! 
Two little ones, that God had kindly given. 
Just won our hearts and then went up to heaven, 
God still is good, — He sends this little bird, — 
So sweet, so lovely — O ! He'll spare the third ; 
But few the homes where death has never come. 
And from the circle has not taken some ; 
And fewer yet where, at the Master's call, 
The monster comes and rudely slays them all. 
Besides how health in every feature lives ! 
And grace and beauty, strength and vigor, gives ; 
And every day parental visions can 
See fi-esh precursors of the coming man, — 
Some gift or power that Nature would not give. 
If 'twere not meant the little one should live ; 
And when the boy's a little rough and rude, 
He feels the auo-urv for lono- life is good. 



136 OUR CHARLIE. 

So these fond parents watched, by day and night, 
For each new augury that coukl give tliem Ught, 
And found enough, they almost thought, to give 
The sweet assurance that their boy would live ; 
They'd minds too strong to think they could not lie, 
And their boy could not, like the others, die, — ■ 
And hearts too loving not to hope, alas ! 
That signs show sometimes what will come to pass. 

'Twas not because he was their only son. 
He seemed so lovely and so bright an one ; 
Each mental outgrowth and each moral shoot. 
E'en from its birthday, bore the sweetest fruit ; 
And his gay physique, at its birth, began 
The perfect model of the future man. 
And they said sometimes. Can the thought be true 
That this dear boy is given us for the two ? 

The one who's felt the anguish of the smart. 
Caused by the blow that sunders heart from heart, 
Will fear and tremble to his journey's end, 
Lest, like the first, a second should descend. 
All know their dear ones may be torn away. 
The mourner feels^ as well as knows, they may. 

And so they knew, not only knew, but felt^ 
Their snow-flake might at any moment melt ; 



OUR CHARLIE. 137 

But as " All's well "' the present shouted out, 
And the gay future echoed back the shout, 
The loving parents, captured with the spell. 
Joined in the chorus and the shout " All's well ; " 
For with the cultured, howe'er trained and taught, 
The wish is often " father to the thought," 
And wisest minds, in many a trusting hour. 
Like Samson, find that they have lost their power. 
And so they slept, — the husband and the wife, — 
For lo ! their dear one had a charmed life. 

And just such quiet in each parent's breast 

Had lighted there, and built its downy nest ; 

And doubt and fear, by many a false alarm. 

Had lost the power of doing good or harm. 

And while they strove with every power and thought, 

To teach their darling as he should be taught. 

And tried to make him, by the surest plan, 

A hearty Christian and a useful man ; 

Just then disease, insidious demon, came, 

And, like a vampire, lighted on the frame, — 

At first so gentler than a Zephyr's breath. 

Love's eye, though piercing, scarcely dreamed of 

death. 
They watched for days, watched every changing hue, 
And saw each symptom as it rose and grew. 
Till, as if with a new suspicion caught. 



138 0¥R CHARLIE. 

Each looked as if to read the otlier's thought ; 
Nor dared to whisper what they really felt, — 
That their pure snow-flake was about to melt. 
God spare our boy ; O, spare our darling son ! 
Yet not as I will, but Thy will be done. 

God heard their prayer, — took their young love- 
bud home, 
And bade the parents to prepare to come. 
He heard their prayer and answered it full soon, 
He took the child and gave a heavenlier boon ; 
And, to prepare them for a home of joy. 
Gave them an angel for a helpless boy. 

O ! how God watches o'er His ransomed ones, 

And wisely chastens whom He calls His sons ; 

And when He wants a polished stone to place 

In His fair temple of abounding grace, 

He smites again, and puts them Mdiere their hearts 

Shall feel the friction adverse life imparts : 

A moment only Christians will despond. 

Ere they will see a brighter scene beyond. 

So the fond parents, staggering 'neath the loss, 

Soon saw light beaming from the dreadful cross. 

How sweet the magic that was wont to run 
Throuo;h the sweet ties that bound them to their son ! 



OUR CHARLIE. 139 

'Tis sweeter now a thousand times for this, 
The ties reach now to realms of perfect bliss. 

Had their boy gone to some fair sunny isle, 
Where they would meet him in a little while, 
They, night and day, would heartily prepare, 
To get all ready for the journey there ; 
And now they'll try, with ardor and delight. 
To get all ready for the upward flight. 
God saw how hearty was the effort made. 
And so vouchsafed to grant them further aid. 

Wealth was not theirs, yet fortune sometimes smiled. 

As if to make him its adopted child. 

And hope would sometimes whisper to the mind. 

That fortune might be in their future kind. 

And it may be its siren voice was heard. 

And touched their hearts with many a flattering 

word. 
God saw the danger, greater day by day, 
A^nd, like a cobweb, swept it all away ; 
Then how their hearts rose up to yonder height. 
With scarce a mote to check their upward flight ! 
And just as tourists to old Windsor haste. 
To see the scenes of splendor and of taste. 
And ere admitted, walk the grounds about. 
Or view the splendors of the court witliout, — 



140 OUR CHARLIE. 

All things that please them are the things akin 
To the rich splendors they will see within ; — 
So while these mourners for admittance wait 
Among God's works, this side the pearly gate, 
The objects now they think about and love 
Are those most kindred to the ones above. 

And were they happy? Never more than then, 
When their hearts felt in all its force, Amen! 
When having found earth's dearest objects riven, 
They found it easier to mount up to heaven, — 
They'd fewer ties to bind them down to this. 
They'd more to draw them to a home of bliss. 

Are they still happy? They'll the answer say, 
Who're with them, — see them, — hear them day by 

day : 
Had fortune still upon their pathway smiled. 
And God had never taken w^ealth or child, 
A life of ease its meshes might have twined. 
Till rust had spoiled his highly-cultured mind. 
And gorgeous luxury with Circean art. 
If not transformed, might yet have stained his heart ; 
But now the young flock to his classic seat. 
And drink pure manna, sitting at his feet. 
Thus he beloved, for his assistance shown. 
Lights up their minds by flashes from his own, 



OUR CHARLIE. 141 

And from the richness of his heart, Imparts 
His moral sweetness to their youthful hearts ; 
And she a magic scatters o'er the whole, 
From the o'erflowing sweetness of her soul ; 
Thus twofold joy upon their board is spread : 
They're feeding others and themselves are fed, 
And while imparting unto others light, 
They keep their own souls active, pure, and bright. 

Are they unhappy? Go, apply the test. 
And tell me where there is a home more blest ; 
The Hill of Zion yields unnumbered sweets. 
This side her fields, this side her golden streets, 
And they've the promise in that hapjoy home, 
Of both this life and that which is to come. 

This is a scene to which I often turn, 
It has a lesson that I fain would learn ; 
God grant we may the lesson's bidding do, 
Without the facts to prove the truth anew. 
Experience is, as all things serve to show. 
The best instructor we can have below. 
And wise is he who his experience reads. 
And every lesson that it teaches, heeds ; 
But wisest he who studies not alone 
His own, but others' added to his own. 



142 OUR CHARLIE. 

There is one question I can ne'er conceal, 
Why was I spared one dreadful blow they feel ? 
I know Religion does more sweetly shine 
Within their bosoms, than it does in mine. 
I know it well, and say it with a sigh, 
They live far higher above the world than I. 
Why, then, that blow that was by Wisdom dealt, 
Unfelt by me, by those fond parents felt ? 
Perhaps Omniscience, looking from on high. 
Saw they could bear it better far than I, 
Or that the picture would be more divine. 
Wrought in their bosoms, than if wrought in mine ; 
And yet, alas ! whate'er the cause may be, 
'Tis naught that wakens any pride in me. 



THE ENGLISH FAMILY. 

There is a good man whom I love to meet, 

As I do, daily, in the busy street. 

And have, sometimes, when 'twas within my power, 

Been to his home to spend a social hour. 

And never, never have I met him yet. 

But I felt better after I had met; 

He is my senior, yet to judge him by 

His buoyant heart, he is as young as I, 

And till my Charlie took my heart from me, 



OUR CHARLIE. 143 

I was, at heart, a younger man than he; 

1 never meet the good man m his walks, 

I never hsten to him as he talks, 

But I feel better, feel instructed even, 

And feel like liftmg my sad thoughts to Heaven. 

I never saw him when he seemed to wear 
A sombre aspect or a gloomy air ; 
Smiles always play on his expressive face. 
Which sorrow's self is powerless to erase ; 
Yet one can see, both by his words and mien. 
That he's seen sorrows and knows what they mean. 
That queenly isle, by all things noble decked. 
We sometimes scold, but oftener far respect, 
And things full often in time's course unfold. 
That prove we have abundant cause to scold, — 
That queenly isle, he loves, adores her yet, 
And that fond mother he can ne'er forget. 
Her honors often, often have been shed, 
Upon his noble, but untitled head. 
And all her glories, in his heart inwove. 
Claim even yet the incense of his love. 

lii early manhood, with a hopeful breast. 
He'd seen afar this empire of the West, 
And hither came, an English home to find 
Akin to that which he had left behind. 



144 OUR CHARLIE. 



'Tis sweet to see how his old EngHsh love 

Is in the web of Western progress wove ; 

He sees our faults perhaps more keen than we, 

But sees our merits plain as we can see, 

And when there's discord that will rise sometimes 

Between his native and adopted climes, 

'Tis sweet to see how his large heart expands. 

And takes within it both the rival lands ; 

He knows, though two, the nations are but twins. 

He lauds their virtues, but reproves their sins ; 

And if war should, between the nations, spring, 

And stern defiance at each other fling. 

To fight 'gainst either, he'd be very loath. 

But yet I know he'd gladly die for both. 

The hand of fortune, by his magic, thrilled. 

And with rich gifts his spacious coffers filled ; 

And to the island o'er the stormy main 

He soon returned to seek sweet home again. 

There, with a mind well cultured, pure, and chaste, 

His was a home of elegance and taste. 

Where fortune's sons in social life could blend. 

And stern misfortune's always find a friend, 

And where wealth never breathed a word or thought, 

That would set harshly in the poor man's cot ; 

And should misfortune, armed with vengeance, come. 



OUR CHARLIE. 145 

And sweep all bare in that delightful home, 

No retrospect in Avealth's career would plant 

A sincrle sorrow in the home of want. 

God looked from heaven, and dearly loved to shed 

His choicest blessings daily on his head ; 

His home was sweet with wealth all strown about, 

Would it Jje still as sweet a home without ? 

And so God tried, — He swept away his wealth. 

And left him nought but honor, hope, and health. 

Farewell, dear England, fare thee well, sweet home ; 

Land of the West, to thee again I come ; 

I'd gladly linger on my native shore. 

Until, alas I life's fitful dream is o'er, 

But duty becks, and who her voice obey 

Find hers a thorny, but a flowery way. 

And that her pathway always leads to boAvers 

Bedecked with thornless and immortal flowers. 

And now old ocean, with its waves and foam. 
Divides his island from his Western home ; 
He's left the first, and stormy ocean past. 
He, with his dear ones, nestles in the last ; 
While round him one her white arms sweetly flings. 
And like the ivy round her old oak clings. 
While, like a shoot in all her virgin gi'owth, 
Another clings and twines around them both. 

10 



146 OUR CHARLIE. 

Ah ! happy trio, keen misfortune's smart 
Has but disturbed the pulses of the heart ; 
E'en now those gay and fluttering pulses beat, 
If not as boisterous, yet, methinks, more sweet. 

One son, their only, now just stepping o'er 
The threshold set at manhood's opening d^oor, 
All lit with hope's and health's bewitching smile. 
Still stayed and dwelt within his native isle ; 
A boy of promise, all were wont to say. 
Who'll make his mark upon the world some day. 
And ere at last he lays hfe's sceptre down, 
He'll set some gems in virtue's earthly crown. 
And if signs fail not, he will write his name 
On the brio;ht scroll of honor and of fame. 

If there was one more fondled than the rest, 
In the soft down of that domestic nest. 
It was that boy so cultured, so refined. 
So pure in heart and so acute in mind. 

The boy, far oftener than the girl, will get, 

I scarce know why, to be a household j^et. 

And girls themselves take hold with heart-felt joy 

And help install him as the petted boy. 

And home is never quite so full of bliss. 

As when, within it, there's a boy to kiss. 



OUR CHARLIE. 147 

True, 'tis a sight not seldom to be met, 
That some sweet girl is made the household pet, 
And yet, methinks, more often home elects. 
As household pet, one of the sterner sex. 

Parental love, like other loves on earth, 
Is not proportioned to the object's worth ; 
'Tis not unfrequent stronger for the boys, 
Whom vice debases and whom crime destroys ; 
And pets are seated on their household thrones. 
Not most or oftenest from the brightest ones. 
Nor yet because the little ones can boast, 
They're thought the brightest or are loved the 

most. 
Not that dear group round that domestic hearth 
Loved that boy thus^ — they loved him for his worth, 
Not as a pet, to frolic with and play, 
To kill the moments of the passing day. 
Not as a little plaything of a son. 
To fill up ennui with a little ftm ; 
But the sound granite, solid, polished, dressed. 
Where manhood's stiTicture will securely rest. 
The little tree that, with a vigorous root, 
Begins, e'en now, to bear the sweetest fimit. 
And one that will in life's career be found 
No barren plant, no cumberer of the ground. 



148 OUR CHARLIE. 

A steamer came, — and each that used to come 
Brought them fresh tidings from their Enghsli home. 
O I how their hearts went fluttering; at the thouo'lit 
Of what the tidings this fresh steamer brought ; 
The dear ones there, — are they ahve and well ? 
Wait for the letters, they'll the answer tell. 
They broke the seal, and read, delighted, till 
It said, " Dear Willie is a little ill. 
But do not worry, for the case is plain, 
We'll write next steamer that he's well again." 
The steamer came ; the letters came and said, 
*' Dear father, mother, sister, Willie's dead ; 
His last faint prayer was uttered for the three. 
So dear, so loving, now beyond the sea. 
And the last thoughts that faintly struggled through 
The gathering twilight, seemed to be of you. 

God bless the father, — so his dear ones said, — 
'Twill kill him when he hears that Willie's dead ; 
Ah ! 'twas not so, — though heart-broke at the loss, 
He bent submissive 'neath the heavy cross ; 
God had been with him and prepared his heart, 
And grace now came and kindly soothed the smart, 
And faith so sweetly told him that his boy 
Was roving now in realms of heavenly joy, 
That although cheered when others came to cheer, 
And soothed at Friendship's sympathetic tear, 



OUR CHARLIE. 149 



He needed naught to soothe his stricken breast, 
Nor aught that might give comfort to the rest. 



'Twas sweet to see the good, kind father try 

To wipe the tear from each co- weeper's eye ; 

To see him sit and on the virgin sheet, 

Write down his thoughts, so gentle, kind, and sw^eet, 

So full of comfort and so full of joy 

About dear Willie, his now sainted boy. 

And how delightful 'twas to think that they 

Should be with Willie, at no distant day. 

And how, perhaps, the little boy was given. 

To gain their hearts and draw them up to heaven : 

Thus would the good man often write and say, 

As if he had no cross to bear but they. 

There's many an oasis in this desert earth. 

Where pleasures spring of most surpassing worth. 

The good man finds, fi'om earth's intensest ills. 

The sweetest nectar of delight distils ; 

The bad man finds from earth's best blessings, flow 

The keenest anguish and intensest woe ; 

And most men lingering at some point between. 

Find earth to be a very checkered scene. 

The bitterest sorrows get their bitterest gall 

Out of the bosoms into which they fall ; 

And if 'tis joy that out of sorrow starts. 



150 OUR CHARLIE. 

It gets its sweetness out of human hearts. 
The spark produces quite a different scene, 
That strikes the mountain and the magazine ; 
And whether sorrow be a good or ill, 
Bides the decree of the recipient's will. 
Vice comes as powerless to the virtuous mind. 
As rays of sunlight falling on the blind. 
And holy thoughts dropped down from paradise, 
Would be rank poison to the heart of vice. 
And virtuous hearts in their divine employ, 
Get out of all things, howe'er saddening, joy. 
And feast far oftener, thankful and devout. 
On things within them than on things without. 

Thus 'tis no marvel that the good man's home 

Is the bright spot where gladness loves to come ; 

Although not wealth, with its attendant care. 

They yet possess sufficient and to spare. 

And if one sorrow in their bosoms live, 

'Tis only this, — that they've no more to give. 

Go to his home, — you'll see it, at a glance. 

That 'tis a home of taste and elegance, 

Not grand and gorgeous, as the wealthy boor 

Piles up his stuff to prove he is not poor, 

But such as people of refinement feel 

Makes home bright, cheerful, pleasant, and genteel 



OUR CHARLIE. 151 

Books find an entrance, of the choicest kinds, 

And then beam forth Hke sunbeams from their minds ; 

And knowledge written and unwritten comes, 

And finds apt scholars in this best of homes ; 

And social converse is all brightly lit 

With scintillations of his sense and wit ; 

And there's an altar where their pure hearts leave 

Religion's oflPerings every morn and eve. 

I did not know the pleasant group before 
The shipwreck came, and Willie was no more. 
And therefore know not, if before it, they 
Were the same joyfril spirits of to-day ; 
And yet I doubt not but in heart and mind 
They were as gentle, affable, and kind. 
But as the rose out of the driving storm. 
Gets sw^eeter sweetness and a lovelier form. 
So out of sorrow's almost poisoned bowl. 
The little group gained many a grace of soul, 
And one who'd known them in the days wliilom 
Would say their present is a happier home. 
And since I've felt how human hearts can ache, 
Until they feel as if about to break, 
I sometimes fancy that his heart was rent 
When sad afiliction's thunderbolts were sent, 
And that whenever sorrow is in view, 
'Tis not with one heart, but he feels with tivo. 



152 OUR CHARLIE. 

When Charlie died, who always loved to greet 
The kind, good man, whene'er they chanced to meet, 
And when the tidino;s entered through his door, 
That his young friend would never greet him more, 
He seized his pen, and, like the breath of flowers, 
Sent his heart-breathings to combine with ours ; 
And so, in harmony, as they came along, 
They sootlied our sorrows sweetly as a song. 

! sweet the balm, the sympathizing heart 
Pours in the breast that feels affliction's smart ; 
A kindly word costs nothing to bestow. 

But may take many a bitter pang from woe. 

" Poor Willie died, — Have you been blessed for 

that ? " 
Said I, as we in social converse sat. 
" O ! ^es," said he, ('twas an emphatic ^es,) 
" 'Twas a remembrance sent to me to bless ; 
I'm sometimes glad, sometimes ' exultant ' even. 
That my dear Willie is a saint in heaven. 
Though dread the blow that sundered us in twain, 

1 would not dare to call him back again ; 

I'm now, sweet thought, at life's dim afternoon. 
And shall rejoin my dear, dear Willie soon ; 
Things that looked dark, look now no longer dim. 
For I live better when I think of him ; 



OUR CHARLIE. 153 

And if I'm saved, I shall both feel and know, 
How much I'm debtor to that boy and blow." 

This is the story, doubt it if you choose. 

Would it were carolled by a loftier Muse ; 

Yet howe'er rude, unskilful, and uncouth, 

One thing rely on, — 'tis the sober truth. 

I think it over, write on Memory's chart. 

And with my own I shrine it in my heart. 

And while they're there, no impure wish or thought 

Can find admittance to the hallowed spot. 

How sad the truth that lessons meant to save 
Must be learned often o'er a dear one's grave, 
And to unite us in a world of bliss 
We must be rudely torn apart in this. 
O ! blest the man who, when afflictions smite, 
Gets from the blow a harvest of delight. 
But doubly blest whose heart is guided so. 
He reaps the harvest, but without the blow. 



THE GENIAL CHRISTIAN. 

Five days ago, — five, at the time I write, — 
Tavo friends came in to see me just at night, 
A man and wife, and 'twere but truth to say 



154 OUR CHARLIE. 

I never saw a happier pair than they. 
Genial, kind-hearted, hberal, frank, and free, 
You could not meet them and ascetics be ; 
You saw the sunshine o'er their faces play, 
And could not part and carry none away. 

We had not met, as we were wont to meet. 

For some few days, in ferry-boat or street, 

And so they called, kind-hearted friends, to see 

If I were ill, or what the cause might be. 

'Twas sweet to greet them at my home and hearth, 

Because I loved them, for I knew their worth. 

His was a heart so loving, kind, and true, 

No act of kindness he'd reftise to do ; 

His was a judgment accurate and acute. 

At whose decisions slander's tongue was mute. 

So uncorrupt, all California might 

In vain essay to sway him from the right, 

And so kind-hearted, 'twere no boon to live, 

If sorrow sighed and he had nought to give, 

And all his life long, to its very end, 

Each good cause deemed him its undoubted friend ; 

His mind so active, vigorous, strong, and clear. 

He could not live and be a cipher here, 

And in life's mart, amidst the bustling tlirong. 

He made his mark where'er he passed along, 

And works of science and the charms of Art, 



OUR CHARLIE. 155 

Had a sweet shrine within his Uberal heart, 
And e'en Invention, starting at his will. 
Took magic shapes beneath his plastic skill; 
Social and genial, friendship could not come, 
And find no welcome at his happy home ; 
That home seemed made to overflow with bliss, 
Enough for others and for him and his. 
And all attracted to that home were sure 
Of something pleasant, polished, rich, and pure. 

Just at life's prime, he ne'er before had stood 

So strong for work, so ripe for doing good, 

So running o'er with kindness' overflow. 

As was my fi'iend but just five days ago. 

This mornincr tidino;s came to me that said, 

" That pleasant friend, you loved so well, is dead ; " 

He died unwarned, not wasted, worn, and wan. 

Died as he wished, — died with the harness on. 

And then I thouo-ht where amono; all I know 
Could death have struck a bitterer, keener blow? 
Or could have thrown one of his venomed darts. 
And pierced more loving and more sorrowing hearts ? 
Methinks, had he, all his barbed arrows hurled. 
Chance-aimed among the busy, bustling world. 
Few would have fallen, whoever they miglit be. 
More bright for action and for thought than he ; , 



156 OUR CHARLIE. 

None could have fallen and heartier tears be shed 
O'er the green velvet of the sleej^er's bed. 

O ! 'tis not strange that any one below, 

At any time, should feel the monster's blow. 

He strikes at random, seeming, without aim. 

Or as rude boys shoot anything for game : 

A harmless sparrow flitting through the wood. 

Or busy robin carrying home its food. 

Or if some chance should happen to suggest, 

They'd fire the death-shot in its unfledged nest ; 

And there's no rule that Reason could devise. 

Or research find with its acutest eyes. 

Which seems the one, comparing facts with facts, 

By which the monster in his butchery acts. 

Spirits from bodies stalwart, firm, and strong. 

Mount up to heaven and join the happy throng. 

And burdened spirits break, with joy, away 

From their poor, leaky, shattered homes of clay; 

Look where we will, at whate'er point we stand, 

Travellers are starting for the spirit land. 

Farewell, kind friend, to-morrow they will bear 
Thy form to Greenwood and they'll leave thee 

there ; 
And when fond love has reared the marble stone, 
And chiselled there the dear name, Atkinson, 



OUR CHARLIE. 157 

Whene'er at Greenwood, 'twill be always sweet 
To thread the paths and see thy green retreat, 
And breathe the prayer, God grant it be not vain, 
That we may meet om' pleasant friend again. 



THE YOUNG PATRIOT. 

How ceaselessly God's glittering armory opes. 
And the bright shafts lets fly at human hopes ! 
E'en as I write, an echoed bolt is sped, 
And a young patriot's numbered with the dead. 
In wealth's soft cradle he'd been fondly rocked, 
In love's soft bosom he'd been sweetly locked. 
And all that could by w^it or wealth be done, 
Were found among the assets of that son ; 
And he repaid them, O ! how well repaid. 
For all their kindness, all their love and aid ; 
Each throb of care or mite of treasure spent. 
Came back with usury to the hearts that lent ; 
And as Sorrento, in all stages, sees 
Buds, blossoms, fruits upon her orange-trees. 
So these fond parents saw in his young mind, 
The boy's, youth's, man's developments combined ; 
Ripe fruits were hanging in the moral bower. 
While buds formed, swelled, and opened every hour 



158 OUR CHARLIE. 

He was a student, not in name, in fact.^ 
And proved in theory not alone, but act ; 
And when at length his college life was done, 
And he departed hale and twenty-one. 
Not a diploma, but his well-trained mind. 
Sufficed to prove him erudite, refined ; 
For one as well might walk gay Flora's bowers, 
And not inspire the perfume of her flowers, 
As be with one so cultured and refined. 
Nor feel the influence of his liberal mind. 

We'd met but twice, but twice sufficed to show 
He was a person one would love to know. 

r 

Among the last young voyagers fi*om Yale, 

Who, for life's trip, had set the merry saiL 

Was that young man, around whose noble brow 

Yale's classic garland worthily rested now. 

Of truth's broad sea he'd studied well the chart. 

Rocks, reeves, and quicksands, — knew them all by 

heart, 
And now at last that college lustrum's gain 
Must bear the test of life's colossal strain ; 
None feared that knew, nor ever dreamed of less 
Than that the issue would be found success ; 
And so it was, — e'en ere he joined its strife. 
He gained success, and sealed it with his life ; 



OUR CHARLIE. 159 

Unswayed by wealth, undazzled with dehght, 
He laid his life down at the beck of right, 
As much a martyr as if stricken dead 
By the fierce plunge of Berdan's screaming lead. 

While yet within his Alma Mater's walls. 

His country's shrieks came echoing through her halls, 

And his young heart with quicker pulses beat, 

To throw himself obedient at her feet ; 

He felt with Horace, at his country's cry. 

How sweet, how glorious it would be to die ! 

And when at length, with bosom all aglow, 

Yale wreathed his brow, and, smiling, bade him go, 

Like Pallas leaping out of Zeus's head. 

He leaped from Yale's and marched with martial tread. 

That proud old ship, the gallant Arago, 

A perfect life-boat both in calm and blow. 

Takes the brave patriots, with a mother's care. 

To waft them — waft them — ah ! they knew not 

where ; 
No matter where, provided 'tis to stand. 
And meet the foeman of their native land. 

Ah ! fond affection with a quivering lip 
Thanked God that boy was in so safe a ship, 
And felt almost, amidst old Ocean's strife, 



160 OUR CHABLTE. 

That ship was surety for tlie clear one's life ; 
But ere that steamer had been out a day, 
Death came on board for plunder and for prey, 
And of the thousands in that good ship piled. 
Took but that hero, learning's foster-child. 
Home, for a moment, stood in mute despair; 
It seemed all midnight with no sunlight there ; 
And not till Faith came up, her tale to tell. 
Could the fond inmates utter, " All is well." 

No greener wreath had 'twined around his brow, 
Than genuine merit is intwining now. 
Nor greater good could he have done his land. 
Than peril life to lend a helping hand. 
E'en had he lived, amid the battle's smoke. 
To mow down thousands with his sabre's stroke. 
He's the true hero, he's his country's friend. 
Whose part's well acted to the drama's end. 
And so love felt, and faith assisted love. 
And so the parents looked for aid above. 
And though heart-broken at the dreadful loss. 
Love's healing beams came streaming from the cross ; 
That cross, at which their hero-boy had given 
Himself, his all, to justice, truth, and heaven ; 
All now seemed bright, except the shadow cast 
On poor self sitting at her sad repast. 



OUR CHARLIE. 161 

No honest effort God e'er failed to bless, 
Though oft it seem far, far this side success. 
As prayer, unanswered, in the mode we pray, 
Full oft is answered in God's better way ; 
So love now sees, with faith's pure light supplied. 
Success stood waiting where their dear one died. 
And though defeat in all he'd hoped and dreamed 
Writ on the tombstone o'er his ashes seemed. 
Love still sees victory crowning what he'd done. 
Not that they'd pictured, but God's nobler one. 

O ! yes, be sure, when merit's tale is told. 
That you'll find Sterling with the names enrolled, 
And progress' mission was more nobly done. 
For the brief drama acted by that son. 



162 OUR CHARLIE. 

Not to the realms that merry fancy fills 
With her gay witcheries woven as she wills, 
Have I been roving something sweet to find, 
To fill the void that Charlie left behind. 
I've walked through Nature, and her buds and flow- 
ers 
Lay thick as snow-flakes after winter showers. 
And fruits, all ranging from the bud to blush. 
Lay thick as hail 'neath every tree and bush, 
And plants and trees at every stage from birth 
Lay livid corpses on the lap of earth. 
And grace and beauty all o'er nature spread 
Lay marred or scarred or numbered with the dead ; 
And in earth's workshop, down beneath our feet, 
Creations perished ere one half complete ; 
And in life's mart, where all for conquest press, 
Defeat was seen far oftener than success. 
And of the years allotted here to men, 
How few used up their threescore years and' ten ; 
And when our Charlie bade poor earth acheu. 
And up to heaven on his young pinions flew. 
It seemed so like the good God's usual way. 
We had no murmur or complaint to say ; 
We felt it must be not alone not wrong. 
But a sweet note in God's harmonious song. 



OUR CHARLIE. 



PART SECOND. 



OUR CHARLIE. 



PART SECOND. 



O ! WHO that e'er received from heaven a httle bud 

of love, 
To see it hke a dew-drop meh and sail to realms above, 
But oftentimes has asked himself, with many a tear 

and sigh, 
Why should such fairy little things in life's young 

morning die ? 
Why should they come, with hope and joy these 

throbbing hearts to thrill, 
And then fly off and leave a void that nought can 

ever fill ? 

A mourner who is trembling yet 'neath sad afflic- 
tion's smart. 

But with a mind convinced 'twas right, and with a 
chastened heart. 

Has pondered o'er the question much, Why should 
our children die ? 

And jotted down upon these leaves full many a 
reason why. 

And not a reason of them all, but to the thoughtful heart, 

Takes many a bitter pang away from sad affliction's 
smart. 



166 OUR CHARLIE. 

WHY SHOULD THE YOUNG DIE? 

The sweetest gardens here below, the fah^est earthly 
bowers, 

Are not the landscapes gayly decked with only adult 
flowers. 

To make an Eden like the first, each hue and form 
and size 

Of floral gems must mingle charms to make the 
paradise. 

The little green and tender stalk that issues from the 
roots. 

The little stems that start from it and form the lat- 
eral shoots. 

The velvet leaflets and the leaves of finest texture 
wove. 

That gayly flutter in the breath that whispers through 
the grove ; 

The little buds gf tiniest growth and microscopic 
size, 

Almost unnoticed and unseen by all unaided eyes. 

The larger buds that earlier yet their way begin to 
push. 

And have arrived to almost flowers upon their parent 
bush. 

And those just opening to the light and gayly hold- 
ing up 



OUR CHARLIE. 1G7 

A load of beauty and of sweets within their little 
cup, 

And full-blown flowers in adult bloom, among whose 
varying hues, 

The golden beams of sunlight play upon the spar- 
kling dews, — 

All these their beauties must combine, and into 
harmony bring. 

Before earth's sweetest landscapes rise and loveliest 
Edens spring. 

Select the brightest, gaudiest gem of all that flowery 
train. 

And then with such, and only such, adorn the lovely 
plain. 

Instead of flowers, a single flower, the sweet parterre 
would grace, 

Instead of charms, a single charm would play o'er 
Nature's face ; 

The loftiest, or the sweetest, or the softest mono- 
tone. 

Can ne'er one stave of music make, unaided and 
alone. 

Look up to yonder vaulted sky and view each glit- 
tering gem 

That He, who made them all, has set in night's 
bright diadem ; 



168 OUR CHARLIE. 

Select the brightest, purest one, in its aerial march, 
And pin, with such, night's curtain up, to yonder 

spacious arch, 
'Twould mar the bright and glorious scene spread 

out before the eye, 
And take a thousand charms away from our own 

gorgeous sky ; 
Variety that never tires, but gives us something 

new. 
Would then be blotted from the sky and spread a 

sameness through ; 
The stars would then be all alike, without a sepa- 
rate name. 
And every little inch of sky be everywhere the 

same. 
Those brilliant stars, whose names are known, and 

on whose disks we gaze. 
The little snow-white nebulse, that form om- milky- 
ways. 
With those of every hue and size, between the two 

extremes. 
Are gems on which the rudest gaze, and Science 

looks and dreams. 
This makes the sky that glorious page, so gorgeous 

round about. 
Which loftiest science cannot read and still be unde- 

vout. 



OUR CHARLIE. 169 

'Tis sweet to stand in summer-time and look the 
landscape through; 

With scenery like in every part, 'twould be a dis- 
mal view, 

But boundless in variety, the man of taste admires. 

And though he gazes, year by year, he never, never 
tires. 

The hills, the plains, the groves, the meads, and 
waving fields of grain. 

The flocks and herds that rove and feed on every 
hill and plain. 

The little lalle, the country church, the farmer's 
barn and cot. 

All, all in gay variety, the verdant landscape dot. 

Select the brightest feature now of all, that makes 

it fair. 
Sweep off" the rest, and leave but this monotonously 

there. 
The warmest lover Nature has, would, in a moment, 

tire. 
And her devoutest worshipper lose every spark of 

fire. 

'Tis sweet to see the fleecy flocks along the land- 
scape pass, 



170 OUR CHARLIE. 

And rove around the hills and vales and clip the 

verdant grass ; 
For happiness and innocence and sweet content are 

there, 
Without a single fear of woe or single thought of 

care. 
Behold them slowly moving round sometimes in 

single pairs, 
Sometimes in lines, sometimes in ranks, sometimes 

in solid squares ; 
Sometimes they gather, as they feed beside the 

brooklet's brink. 
Sometimes within the pebbly bed go gayly in and 

drink. 
Sometimes, beside a shady fence or shady tree or 

bush. 
They chew the cud, or look, or doze, or into slum- 
ber hush. 
And when the sober, timid things find something to 

alarm, 
'Tis fun to see them leap the walls and scamper o'er 

the farm, 
And huddle in some corner, where they safely may 

remain. 
Until their fright is o'er, and they can go and feed 

again. 
Let such a sweet and pleasing scene be banished 

from our farms. 



OUR CHARLIE. 171 

And rural life would be deprived of some delightful 

charms ; 
But yet, in such a scene as this, there's one defect, 

alas ! 
There is another thing required to give the coiqj de 

grace^ 
For lo ! among the feeding flocks, the sober serious 

dams 
Must have, dependent on their loves, their lambkins 

and their lambs ; 
And while their sober mothers do Avhate'er is to be 

done. 
The little lambs must frisk and play and add the 

glee and ftm. 
O ! he who e'er has stood and gazed upon a summer 

day, 
And seen them gambol, leap, and run, and gayly 

sport and play, 
And seen the mother oft look up, and with her 

well-known bla, 
Assure the little fellow near that she's the real 

ma. 
No man, methinks, that has a heart, but feels a 

thrill of bliss, 
To see a scene as innocent and beautiful as this, 
And feels, with all the magic thrills that such a 

vision brings. 



172 OUR CHARLIE. 

That flocks without, and with their lambs, are very 
different things. 

Where is the spot, the sunny spot beneath the 

swelling dome, 
One half as sweet and half as fair, and half as blest 

as home ? 
'Tis there, from earliest infancy, our purest joys 

were found ; 
'Tis there the spirit woke to life and first begun to 

bound ; 
'Tis there, whenever we were plagued or vexed 

with earth's affairs. 
We always came and always found a solace for our 

cares ; 
'Tis there, whene'er in social life fair friendship's 

bonds unwove, 
We ' always fled and always found the richest 

draughts of love ; 
O ! it was there, that everything beneath the golden 

sun. 
That sweetens life, or brightens life, or gladdens 

life, begun ; 
And where our tastes and modes of thought and 

habits took their rise. 
And where our souls received the food that gave 

them shape and size ; 



OUR CHARLIE. 173 

And we, in fine, whatever we in after-life become, 
Are always, and shall ever be, embodiments of 

home ; 
And just as much and long as w^e shall love our- 
selves on earth. 
So much and long we e'er shall love the homestead 

of our birth. 
'Tis for these reasons, earthly homes, however homely, 

glow 
With brighter charms and richer joys, than any spot 

below. 
However large, however small, however young or 

old. 
The little group of loving ones, the happy homestead 

hold. 
The memory loves to travel back, wherever we may 

roam. 
And walk among the pleasant scenes we used to see 

at home. 
But still, e'en home, however sweet, will lack a 

thousand charms. 
That has no little prattlers there in its parental 

arms. 
The tender bosom understands you well, when you 

declare 
Your home is happy, but alas ! it has no baby 

there. 



174 OUR CHARLIE. 

The choral song of home, sweet home, has some 
enchantmg notes. 

That cannot be expressed by aught, but by the ti- 
niest throats ; 

The full and perfect harmony of joy upon the 
heart 

Is only felt where there's a voice attuned to every 
part ; 

An absent voice was ne'er supplied by substitution 

yet. 

For O ! the song of home is marred by any one's 
falsette. 

Among the endless forms of life, all o'er our planet 
spread. 

The father of it all has put the human at the 
head. 

And although frailty writes its name on everything 
we do 

And think and say and will and plan, 'tis notwith- 
standing true ; 

And though 'tis we that make the boast, who're of 
the species "man," 

Yet we're the ones of all the world who know it 
and who can. 

I might go on, and volumes write, and not exhaust 
the theme, 



OUR CHARLIE. 175: 

To prove that man's supremacy is not a baseless 

dream ; 
But all I'll say is simply this : if progress, since the 

fall, 
Has added aught to human bliss, 'tis man has done 

it all. 
There's not a living thing on earth, that wishes or 

aspires. 
To be a thing or do a thing, an inch above their 

sires. 
But centuries hence, if centuries come, when earth 

shall pass away. 
They will be found exactly what we find they are 

to-day ; 
Or if improved in strength or size, or health or 

beauty, still 
They'll be indebted for the change to plastic human 

skill. 
But though we search from east to west, and search 

from pole to pole, 
And find poor fallen man the best and noblest of 

the whole, 
God did not choose, when he resolved to carry out 

his plan. 
To 'take, because his noblest work, and stock the 

earth with man ; 
But as, in Flora's lovely realms, among her gems we 

trace 



176 OUR CHARLIE, 

Ten thousand times ten thousand forms of beauty 
and of grace, — 

So when Jehovah's fiat came, life started into birth. 

And spread in rainbow loveKness all o'er our mother 
earth, 

So that, when looking from on high, He can enrap- 
tured see 

All o'er his vast unbounded realms unbounded har- 
mony. 

And know how much 'twould mar the scene to 
banish from his plan 

His little animalculae, as well as lordly man. 

'Tis harmony, all harmony, that throughout Nature 

springs. 
And not a discord ever jars upon her faultless 

strings ; 
Those seeming discords that perplex and so annoy 

us here 
Grow harmonies on Nature's strings, before they 

reach His ear. 
And that unbounded harmony that thrills the Al- 
mighty mind 
Has in it minor harmonies all perfect in their 

kind; 
And even the minutest ones are, of themselves 

alone, 



OUR CHARLIE. 177 

As perfect as the general one, e'en to its tiniest 

tone ; 
And everywhere the searcher finds, wherever he has 

trod. 
This beautiful analogy runs through the works of 

God. 

Our race was never meant to form a single mono- 
tone. 
But a grand harmony all attuned to Natm-e's grander 

one ; 
God might have made us all adults, as Adam was, 

and then 
Have peopled earth, this beauteous earth, with only 

full-2;rown men. 
If childhood must to manhood grow, and this is 

Nature's plan, 
He might as well, had He thought best, have made 

the boy a man, 
And then, instead of toiling years, in getting up the 

hill. 
Where stalwart manhood wields his power with vigor 

and with - skill, — 
And when, perhaps, but just begun and fairly set in 

play. 
The fiat from Jehovah comes and summons him 

away, — 

12 



178 OUR CHARLIE. 

Man might have sprung, Athena-like, with adult 

armor on, 
And to the manly work of life, without preparing, 

gone ; 
But then among the harmonies of God's harmonious 

plan. 
There would have been a discord felt when coming 

on to man. 
For wheresoe'er we mortals look, we see at every 

breath. 
Attached to everything below, are birth and growth 

and death ; 
O ! how 'twould mar the harmonies, the whole and 

lesser both. 
To strike from any single Imk the principle of 

growth ! 
O ! no, the grand analogy that runs through all 

God's plan, 
'Twould be absurd to think, alas ! would disappear 

in man. 

Could we, from some aerial height, inspect the scene 

below, 
And see, upon the stage of life, its actors come and 

go, 
Among the untold witcheries that on the planet 

live. 



OUR CHARLIE. 179 

Eacli little inch of time would have its representative. 

Just on the eastern edge of life our little ones would 
peep, 

And on their tiny feet and hands among the minutes 
creep, 

Like those two cherubs Raphael's brush 'neath that 
Madonna traced. 

That Dresden has, with pious care, within her gal- 
lery placed. 

And far upon the western edge, close on existence' 
brink. 

Old age would walk on tottering feet and just about 
to sink. 

And all between the two extremes, at every inch 
from both. 

We should behold each moment's true development 
and growth ; 

And all transition's lights and shades in all the dis- 
tance through, 

And everything that time with man has power on 
earth to do ; 

In fine, see every changing phase of size and hue 
and mould 

That human nature can assume and into which unfold ; 

O ! where's the bosom does not feel how fair and 
fresh and new 

The lovely panorama is of such a charming view ? 



180 OUR CHARLIE. 

But look again at yonder scene ancj see how wonders 

start, 
Take off your vision from the whole and fix it on a 

part. 
See how the same variety has left its magic trace, 
Yet all in perfect harmony, upon the human face ; 
However strong resemblances the gazer's eye may 

strike. 
There are no two in everything in all the world 

alike. 
In yonder artist's studio, the products of his art 
Are not unfrequent just the same alike in every 

part, I 

But Nature always unconstrained throws her crea- 
tions out, 
So that each thing's identity, though sometimes 

brought in doubt. 
Though sometimes dim and indistinct as if about to 

die, 
It never wholly can escape the expert's practised 

eye. 

O ! yes, methinks that bliss above and happiness 
below 

Must, since in essence so alike, from kindred foun- 
tains flow. 



OUR CHARLIE. 181 

And if we seek the sources whence our sweetest 

earthly feast, 
Our hearts would fondly testify the social not the 

least. 
'Tis said the blessed ones above find added rapture 

even, 
Whene'er they see a lost one start upon the road to 

heaven ; 
And 'twould be strange if it awoke no added thrill 

to this. 
When that new spirit safe arrived within a home of 

bliss ; 
But stranger yet, if when that guest unites in 

Heaven's employ. 
The happy spirits do not feel an extra thrill of 

joy- 

O ! heaven, methinks, must be a place where just such 
charms appear 

As fill the ransomed soul with joy e'en while it lin- 
gers here, 

And that the sweet variety, that all so dearly 
love, 

To please the ransomed spirits there must deck the 
realms above. 

And so God speaks, and tender ties are every mo- 
ment riven, 



182 OUR CHARLIE. 

And those we love so much below are taken up to 
heaven ; 

Sometimes He takes the hoary sage whose work is 
nobly done, 

Sometimes, in duty's mid career, the strong and 
vigorous one, 

Sometimes He smites the ripened youth just entering 
manhood's door. 

And full of heart and full of hope he falls to rise no 
more. 

Sometimes he smites, in childhood's days, our daugh- 
ters and our sons. 

But oftener, far, than all the rest. He takes our lit- 
tle ones ; 

And as He takes them one by one to holier courts 
above. 

They give to heaven's variety, new beauty, bliss, and 
love. 

And when He wants to fill a place unfilled among 
the blest. 

He's always sure to take the one that will adorn it 
best. 

Then is it strange, since children are the sweetest 

blessings given. 
That God should take our little ones and place them 

safe in heaven ? 



OUR CHARLIE. 183 

Or that, to make the world above most beautiflil and 

blest, 
Should call our little ones away far oftener than the 

rest, 
Or should, to make heaven seem to us most charmmg 

and most fair, 
Transport our little ones above to help attract us 

there ? 

Dear Charlie, we accept the thought, and shrine it 

in our breast : 
God would not sure have taken thee, had he not 

known 'twas best, — 
The best for us, the best for thee, and best for all 

above, 
For now the happy ones in heaven have one more 

thing to love. 
For in that glorious world above, as surely as in 

this, 
'Tis true, that added things to love give added thrills 

to bliss ; 
And, Charlie, though nor eye nor ear, nor heart of 

man, can know 
What things the Father has prepared for those he 

loves below. 
We do know now what spirits live within that happy 

sphere, 



184 OUR CHARLIE. 

Because they're just the little ones we loved and 
fondled here ; 

And as we know what joy they caused m home's 
divine retreat, 

We feel the bliss of heaven must be, beyond con- 
ception, sweet. 

Methinks, dear Charlie, thine must be intenser thrills 

of joy. 

Since thou didst go to Paradise while yet a spotless 

boy. 
And could I cease to feel the weight of this sad 

crushing cross. 
And wipe away, from memory's page, the record of 

that loss, — 
Had 1 the power to bury self beneath oblivion's 

wave. 
And all self-interest sweep away from little Charlie's 

grave. 
And, v^ithout weighing in love's scales how much the 

loss may be, 
Weigh, in the scales of faith, how much the gain 

has been to thee, — 
Methinks, instead of shedding tears of sorrow for our 

boy. 
We should be shedding, every day, the gushing tears 

of joy. 



OUR CHARLIE. 185 

O ! sometimes, when the vision opes and flings the 

real out, 
And shows the triumphs of our boy unclouded by a 

doubt, 
The tears of sorrow for our boy e'en while they're 

dropping stop, 
Or turn to tears of gladness when the little crystals 

drop ; 
And mitil self steps in again and breaks the magic 

spell. 
We think of our dear boy in heaven and feel that 

all is well. 
And thus alternate day by day we write, leaf after 

leaf: 
To-day we write a page of joy, to-morrow one of 

grief; 
And oftentimes we long to have the glorious morn- 
ing come. 
When self itself shall have a feast with Charlie at 

his home. 



THE NEW SONG. 

There is a song the ransomed sing, — a song of love 

and joy. 
The fresh spontaneous outburst of their heavenly 

employ. 



186 OUR CHARLIE. 

'Tis called the '' new," for as the charms of love and 

truth unfold, 
The song takes in fresh harmonies and so it can't 

grow old. 
'Tis called the " new," because as oft as new-born 

raptures start. 
The fresh performer comes attuned exactly for the 

part ; 
'Tis called the " new," because, as long as endless 

ages roll. 
The ransomed ones will sing the song and never sino- 

the whole ; 
'Tis called the "new," for truth and love of every 

shaj^e and hue 
Are ever twining in the song and keep it always 

new. 
And until truth and grace and love shall all their 

stores unfold. 
That same "New Song" shall still be fresh and 

never shall grow old. 



EACH NEW-BORN SPIRIT APPEARS AT THE RIGHT 1 DIE. 

Methinks, 'twas when the ransomed ones within 

their courts above 
Were singing, and they chanced to touch a tenderer 

strain of love. 



OUR CHARLIE. 187 

The tender notes, like drops of dew, were quivering 

into play, 
All ready for some cherub's throat to mingle in the 

lay, 

When Charlie oped the pearly gate and with his 

new-strung lyre, 
Stepped sweetly up and took his place among the 

heavenly choir. 
'Twas just the part for Charlie's voice, the part for 

Charlie's heart, 
And O ! how sweet the darling boy performed his 

destined part ! 

! then, how sweet the strain was played, how 

doubly sweet 'twas sung. 

When sounded on his little harp and carolled by his 
tongue ! 

For if there was among the charms in his pure na- 
ture wove, 

A grace more sweet than all the rest, it was the 
purest love. 

Sing on, my darling boy, sing on, I'll not disturb a 
note, 

1 almost hear the melody from thy melodious throat. 
Perhaps, when we are done with earth, and life's 

short journey through. 
We may, beside our Charlie, stand and join the 
chorus too. 



188 OUR CHARLIE. 

E'en now, in spirit, we are there beside thee every 

day. 
And hear thee sing, and sing ourselves less sweet 

than thou, the lay ; 
And then we feel, while listening to the music from 

thy tongue. 
How sweet it is and blest it is to be transplanted^ 



'Tis not the titled and the proud, the learned andj 

the wise. 
That learn the easiest and the best the language of* 

the skies : 
The babe that never spoke a word while in its^ 

brief sojourn. 
Goes right to speaking there, because there's nothing 

to unlearn ; 
And that dear boy, who never ceased to love hi^ 

mother best. 
Is almost fitted, at the first, to mingle with the 

blest. 



EACH HAS HIS MISSION EVEN IN HEAVEN. 

Methinks, that Reason shows the fact without the 

fancy's aid, 
God has a mission in this world for everything that's 

made : 



OUR CHARLIE. 189 

And 'twere absurd exceedingly to think it can 
be so, 

That though man hves beyond the tomb, his mission 
ends below. 

The tome of God tells everywhere of heaven's un- 
fading joys, 

But side by side it tells about its pure and blest 
employs. 

! ves, methinks, when we have passed life's fitful 
journey through, 

We shall have thrilling joys to feel and pleasant work 
to do. 

The bliss of heaven, however rest may in its essence 
lurk, 

Would lose full many a thrill of bliss without a touch 
of work ; 

Of all the forms of punishment inflicted here below, 

'Tis solitude, pure solitude, inflicts the deepest woe, 

But still it drops full half its pangs and half its ter- 
rors too. 

By giving to the solitaire a little work to do. 

The spirit, when it mounts on high, must grow a 
different one. 

If that can be a blissful spot where nothing's to be 
done. 

And if, for it would seem absurd to have one doubt 
of this, 



193 OUR CHARLIE. 

The social is in paradise an element of bliss, 

The beino-s there must be engao-ed in some divine 

employ, 
Whose products are the elements of one another's 

joy, 

And fond Affection, with itself, the question will dis- 
cuss, 

If our dear lost ones e'er extend their ministries 
to us. 



HEAVEN'S REVEALINGS. 

When God reveals the mysteries He wishes us to 

know. 
He does not fill the picture up and every feature 

show, 
He gives the outlines only oft, because He deems it 

best 
That our own powers and faculties may try to find 

the rest. 
Methinks, He never would reveal a hidden truth or 

doubt. 
That we, with our own innate skill, had power to 

solve without. 
He always helps the weakest mind in every trial 

made, 



OUR CHARLIE. 191 

And lieartj effort everywhere is sure to get his aid. 

He's told us much about the heaven where He for- 
ever dwells, 

But 'tis by symbols He portrays the most of w^hat 
He tells ; 

He leaves to us, with all the powers that He himself 
has given. 

Out of the symbols He has shown, to form our views 
of heaven ; 

And though we may not group them right, however 
wise and shrewd. 

We always, in the effort, find enough to do us 
good. 

He's given us hints, nay, more than hints, revealings 

meant to show 
Our angel ones have ministries that reach sometimes 

below ; 
And then He leaves the precious truth in all its 

rainbow hues, 
For us to group, as fancy bids, and for our profit 

use. 
And fond Affection seldom fails, when contemplating 

here. 
To feel the fact and find enough to comfort and to 

cheer. 



192 OUR CHARLIE. 



EA.CH FINDS HIS PROPER PLACE IN HEAVEN. 

Howe'er alike we mortals are upon a hasty view, 
We've powers and tastes and aptitudes of every 

shade and hue ; 
And thus in all the walks of life, of every changing 

phase, 
There always is some person found just fitted for the 

place. 
And half the ills and half the crimes and half the 

sorrows here 
Arise because so many a man gets jostled from his 

sphere ; 
For he's the surest to succeed and surest to be 

blest, 
Who's in the place and does the work for which 

he's fitted best ; 
But when we leave this mortal coil and oh new 

pinions fly, 
Alighting midst the happy ones in mansions in the 

sky. 
There'll be no veil about us then, though it be ne'er 

so thin, 
To help us seem to be without what we are not 

within. 
For nothing but our characters, developed while 

we're here, 



OUR CHARLIE. 193 

Will prove our own identity within that happy 

sphere, 
And like the needle to the pole, the spirit of the 

blest 
Is sure to find the mission there for which he's fitted 

best ; 
And so no jar or discord can in any corner lurk, 
But perfect harmony unites the actor and his work. 

I love to think what mission is to om- dear boy 

assigned, 
I think it must be something sweet, exceeding sweet 

and kind ; 
I know just what he was below, — he's just the same 

above. 
And it must be, — I feel it must, — his ministry is 

love. 
When sorrow sighs with broken heart and tears 

begin to play. 
We know he'd go with sunny smiles and kiss the 

tears away ; 
And if a honeyed drop of love could melt some 

heartless one. 
That honeyed drop would sure distil and so the deed 

be done. 



13 



194 OUR CHARLIE. 

DO THE SPIRITS OF THE DEPARTED ONES VISIT US 
HERE ? 

As, when the boy, while yet a lad, goes gayly out 

to roam. 
And seeks in some far-distant clime a fortune and 

a home, 
However rich or learned or wise or honored be his 

lot. 
He ne'er forgets, however small, his humble native 

cot, — 
He recollects his playmates there, the rustic girls 

and boys. 
And never ceases to retaste their rude and simple 

joys ; 

And childhood's reminiscences make this old native 
hearth 

The sweetest spot, the purest spot, the holiest spot 
on earth. 

And young life's pleasing retrospects appear so pass- 
ing fair. 

He'd leave a palace to sit down in that domestic 
chair ; 

And earth's elite^ he'd bid good-by, with heart brim 
ful of joy. 

To meet again the rustic friends he played with 
when a boy. 



OUR CHARLIE. 195 

And none but lie who has no heart or has a lack 

of brain, 
But loves to thmk of early scenes and visit them 

again. 

It is this truth that makes us feel, when earthly ties 

are riven, 
Our dear ones love to think of us when they are safe 

in heaven ; 
And if they love to think of us, they'll dearly love 

to come, 
And visit friends and scenes they knew, when in an 

earthly home. 

O ! such a faith, although it were on airy nothing 

built. 
Would keep the heart in which 'tis shrined from 

many a stain of guilt ; 
But if 'tis built on heavenly truth, the faith and fact 

combined 
Would pour more sweetness in the heart, more 

brightness in the mind. 

O ! it must be that our dear boy, who used to love 

us so. 
Does sometimes come on angel-wings and visit us 

below. 



196 OUR CHARLIE. 



I 



Perhaps he drops a pleasant thought to soothe the 

grief we feel, 
Or brings a sweet and healing balm our wounded 

hearts to heal ; 
Perhaps he brings a floweret plucked the other side 

the tomb, 
That gives a pleasant hue to death and robs it of 

its gloom ; 
Or whispers, with his angel-tongue, Dear Mother, I 

am near. 
And fondly thinks, because she smiles, she must his 

whispers hear. 
And then, perhaps, he flies around and visits all the 

rest, 
And whispers some enchanting thought in every 

throbbino; breast ; 
And then, perhaps, we smile because we feel an inner 

joy, 

And then he thinks, because we smile, we know our 
darling boy ; 

And then, perhaps, he kisses us, as was his merry 
way. 

When he went either off to bed or went away to 
play. 

Perhaps our hearts did know our boy, and by mys- 
terious thought. 

Communed with him, and talked with him, and yet 
we knew him not. 



OUR CHARLIE. 197 

We cannot, with these eyes of ours, however keen 
and sound. 

Behold a spirit as we see material objects round, 

And it may be that spirits, when commissioned here 
below, 

See nothing but the spirits of the ones to whom they 
go. 

Howe'er this be, one thing is true, if spirits do ap- 
pear 

Among old scenes and with old friends, to hold sweet 
converse here. 

It is not through the senses they their messages 
impart : 

They whisper them within the mind, they tell them 
to the heart; 

And though we catch new thrills of joy and many a 
pleasant thought. 

We know not whence, by whom, or why, the pleas- 
ant things were brought ; 

And self-communings, out of which such pleasant 
fruitage starts. 

May be but converse going on between them and 
our hearts. 

And when we think of those we loved all safe en- 
throned in bliss. 

And feel that Jordan's farther bank is lovelier far 
than this. 



198 OUR CHARLIE. 

'Tis not perverting common sense or lowering Fan- 
cy's powers, 

To think the scenes from yonder world, the spirits 
bring to ours. 

If, while on earth, 'tis such a feast to be with those 

we love, 
Perhaps we can a greater have when they are 

throned above. 
While here encumbered with the flesh, with sorrows, 

doubts, and fears. 
Bewitching us with smiles sometimes and saddening 

us with tears, 
'Twas not all honey that distilled, sometimes a sting 

was born, 
Nor all were roses in the way, sometimes there was 

a thorn ; 
And so the pleasant feast of love, like every earthly 

one. 
Was sometimes of a dainty short, or sometimes badly 

done. 
But O ! how pure, how peaceful now are our dear 

ones above ! 
If we have converse now with them, it must be one 

of love ; 
And if it prove not one of joy, when on our table 

placed, 



OUR CHARLIE. 199 

The fault is a corrupted heart or a perverted taste. 
But O ! the banquet of delight that he, unceasing, 

shares, 
Who keeps his heart and keeps his mind in harmony 

with theirs ! 

No tongue can tell what pure delight would be to 

mortals given, 
If they were more in harmony with those who live 

in heaven ; 
Those bright celestial visitants would in our pathway 

fly, 

Or we should walk and talk with them along the 

starry sky, 
And heaven and earth would be so near, and like 

each other then. 
The angels would be, every day, the visitants of 

men. 



HEAVEN. 

O ! WHAT is Heaven ? the anxious heart full often 

says and sighs. 
And Echo, in her covert hid, O ! what is Heaven ? 

replies ;' 
And yet from Heaven's own Delphic shrine responses 

come to show 



200 OUR CHARLIE. 

That 'tis a holy, happy place, where sorrows never 

grow, 
And tell us, too, that in the midst of its unbounded 

joys, 

The spirits keep their rapture up by sweet and pure 

employs. 
But all the rest, the filling up, all gently touched 

and traced, 
God has not in that lofty tone of heavenly wisdom 

placed ; 
Imagination takes her brush and traces vale and 

hill 
And tree and flower and happy ones, according to 

her skill. 
But had the God who made it deigned the picture 

to portray. 
We might have seen upon what plan he takes our 

friend away. 
And understand, it may be, what His providences 

mean. 
By cutting down the old and young and every age 

between. 
Perhaps the different grades of work in yonder holy 

sphere 
Need actors who've reached every grade of earthly 

training here. 
The babe, one little moment old, the sage, a hun- 
dred years, 



OUR CHARLIE. 201 

May work the best of all the rest in their allotted 
spheres. 

If Christ must needs have lived and died and suffered 
want and woe, 

Ere he could feel and sympathize with mortals here 
below, 

So we, if we shall work with them when w^e're trans- 
ferred above. 

Must here have just the discipline to do the work 
of love ; 

No more or less, but just enough, of discipline pos- 
sessed. 

To help the actor do the work that God assigns him 
best. 

A tender babe may win a heart as gentle as a 
dove. 

While, if a man, he could not fire that stubborn 
heart with love. 

Full many a boy has spoke so sweet and looked so 
mildly up, 

The beastliest father was subdued and dashed away 
his cup ; 

But had that boy but been a man, with logic's keen- 
est art, 

He had not swayed that father's mind or ever reached 
his heart. 

To train the young idea right and teach it how to 
shoot. 



202 OUR CHARLIE. 

Requires the powers and aptitudes exactly made to 

suit ; 
The hoary sage, however learned or good or wise or 

kind, 
Is quite unfitted now to train the young and tender 

mind. 
'Tis not because he would disdain to do an act so 

small, 
But that he cannot do it right or cannot do at all. 
The velvet touch of childhood's hands upon the 

mother's cheeks, 
A thousand tender thrills of love to her fond bosom 

speaks ; 
Let forty years of stubborn time its velvet softness 

kill. 
That hand upon the mother's cheeks would wake no 

gentle thrill. 
We think of Moses in his ark so beauteous, sweet, 

and fair, 
•And think of tenderness and love in perfect harmony 

there ; 
But when a man on Sinai's brow, we stand and look 

with awe. 
And fancy paints around his brow the thunders of 

the law ; 
And now the foundling is a sage, the boy a hero 

grown. 



OUR CHARLIE. 2C3 

And Amram's babe is now the heir to haughty 

Pharaoli's throne ; 
And although trained with royal care in Egypt's 

richest lore, 
He cannot win affection now as easy as before. 
The stalwart father tries to soothe his sick and suf- 
fering boy, 
And lifts him gently in his arms and tries to give 

him joy ; 
But in his mother's warm embrace he loves to lie 

the best, 
For there's more softness in her arms, more down 

within her breast. 
The stalwart arm and iron nerve make no soft downy 

bed. 
For that poor suffering languid boy to lay his aching 

head. 
If love could win a stubborn soul that is on mischief 

bent, 
Not Peter, John would surely be the helping spirit 

sent ; 
If ponderous logic only could the sceptic's doubts 

o'erthrow. 
Not sceptic Thomas, reasoning Paul would be the 

one to o-o. 
And when the timid Christian shrinks at power's 

demoniac frown. 






204 OUR CHARLIE. 

'T would be a Luther's ministry to come in kindness 

down ; 
And if the truth in sweetest tones would aid the 

trembler best, 
Melancthon's spirit would glide down and whisper in 

the breast. 
And since there are uncounted 2;rades of mind and 

heart below, 
To which, upon their ministries, the happy spirits go, 
'Twould seem there should be grades like these, 

among the blest above. 
To fit them to discharo;e the best those ministries of 

love. 

Yes, it must be that God assigns to my beloved boy 
Some lovely mission that secures and gives the purest 

joy; 

And when we come to see it all and understand it 

right. 
And read his history, line by line, in heaven's clear 

crystal light, 
'Twill only seem a magic thrill 'twixt Charlie's birth 

and death. 
Or inspiration wafted down upon an angel's breath ; 
And had it been more short or long, or gentle or 

intense, 
So sweet a bud of paradise had never sprung from 

thence. 



OUR CHARLIE. 205 



WHY WAS HE TAKEN ? 

Alas ! why was so dear a boy, so loving and be- 
loved, 

From our fond hearts and arms and home at such 
an age removed ? 

We ask these questions every day along life's Aveary 
way, 

And contemplation furnishes new answers every day ; 

And every hour's experience brings something new 
to light, 

That serves to show that Charlie's death, e'en when 
so young, was right. 

This world was never meant to be, with all its fruits 

and flowers. 
So very, very dear to us, to make us call it ours ; 
'Tis but a life estate we have in anything below. 
And we must leave it any hour the owner bids us 

o-O. 

And all we really gain of earth with all our magic 

powers. 
Is what we weave to character, and that is really 

ours ; 
It matters little what the world may ofler or refuse, 
It only matters how the gifts that God has given 

we use. 



II 



208 



OUR CHARLIE. 



If life were all, and after death, in lifeless dust we 

blend, 
Our lives would not be then as now, a simple means, 

but end. 
'T would be the voice of Wisdom then with all our 

skill and powers. 
To get earth's sweetest cup of bliss and cull her 

loveliest flowers. 
And always keep before our eyes this very ^mple 

plan. 
That if we can't get all the world, get all the world 

we can. 
But since this is not all of life of which we're here 

so fond. 
And all that's really worth the name is that which 

lies beyond. 
And could we see and weigh this life through all its 

changing scenes, 
'Twould serve to prove 'tis not an end but only just 

a means. 
And all the harvests that we reap of gladness and 

delio^ht 
Are incidents of doing things and using things 

aright ; 
For if this life were meant for joy and nothing but 

for this. 



OUR CHARLIE. 207 

God gives tlie rough material which we're to change 

to bHss, 
And e'en the purest, sweetest things, that on our 

planet grow, 
We may convert, just as we please, to pleasure or 

to woe. 
The farmer ploughs and plants and sows and tills the 

fertile plain. 
His object is not ease and joy, but 'tis a crop of 

grain ; 
But though the harvest is the end and object of 

employ. 
Yet, at each honest blow he strikes, he gets a feast 

of joy- 

And when the harvest crowns his toils, the honest 

farmer still. 
Who tries to turn it all to joy, will turn it all to ill ; 
Because the harvest's chief design is not for fun and 

glee. 
But life s support, while we prepare for immortality. 
And if, while feasting on the fruits and drinking 

from the bowl. 
We had a feast of reason too and had a flow of 

soul, 
'Twas not alone or chiefly that the viands tasted 

good. 
But 'twas because we used them as our father meant 

we should, — 



208 OUR CHARLIE. 

To feed these natures we possess, the earthly and 

divine, 
And make them both in harmony grow, develop and 

combine. 
But just suppose, among the rest, a savory dish is 

placed. 
We dearly love, because it is in harmony with oux" 

taste ; 
And though the dish were nutritive and healthful, and 

combined. 
In due proportion with the rest for body and for 

mind. 
But feast upon that favorite dish too freely and 

alone. 
Until a slave to appetite, and health is overthrown, 
And if the ills that slavery brings break not the 

oppressor's sway. 
The last resort of wisdom is to take the dish away. 

The gifts of God, to bless our race, are every mo- 
ment new. 

As genial as the beams of heaven and gentle as the 
dew ; 

And yet not one of all the train, since this round 
earth has stood. 

Has e'er produced, when used by man, its full 
amount of good. 



OUR CHARLIE. 209 

Till 'tis a truth that man has placed in verity's loft- 
iest niche, 
That there's more safety in the world in being poor 

than rich, 
For human p-reatness is so weak and human nature 

such, 
We always love the things we have, too little or 

too much ; 
And when too little, we, alas ! neglect them or 

abuse. 
And when too much, we worship them and all the 

blessing lose ; 
And when the wisdom that inspects, and never, never 

errs. 
Sees what effect each blessing has upon our characters. 
Sometimes it takes the things away whene'er it deems 

it best, 
Sometimes it leaves to let it stincr and rankle in the 

breast ; 
And blest is he who, having found his dearest idol 

slain. 
So acts that from the dreadful loss, he gets a world 

of gain ; 
But doubly blest the man who sees his errors and 

amends. 
Ere yet the fiat's spoken and the dreadful blow de- 
scends. 

14 



210 OUR CHARLIE. 

We loved our children, love them still, and shall for- 
ever love. 
And hope when parting here below to meet them all 

above ; 
And since those snatched from our embrace are safe 

on yonder shore. 
We shall not love our children less, but Him who gave 

them more. 
Indeed, we cannot love too much, provided it be 

wise, 
* For in a weak and doating love the real danger 

lies; 
The only love for things below that wisdom would 

applaud, 
Is that embracing what He gives and reaching up to 

God. 
Methinks, we should love everything that God to us 

has given, 
Not only for its real worth, but that it came from 

heaven. 
If friendship gives, and we despise, w^hate'er the gift 

is worth. 
Because we say we should not love the grovelling 

things of earth, 
We show a lack of common sense too silly to de- 
fend, 



OUR CHARLIE. 211 

And lack of common gratitude to that kind-hearted 
friend. 

The earth was given to us by God to foster and to 

use, 
But e'en Rehgion oft steps up to slander and abuse, 
And says that earth and everything upon this good 

round earth ; 
Are only bubbles that will burst and prove they're 

nothing worth ; 
Nay, worse than that, — they're but a load 'neath 

which the pilgrim bends. 
And often falls e'en in the path that straight to 

heaven ascends, 
And God is told, who gave us earth so perfect and 

complete. 
We do not deem it worth a sou and stamp it 'neath 

our feet ; 
True, as an end 'tis vanity, — the whole there is of 

earth. 
But as a means, Eternity can only tell its worth. 
Earth has enous;h to show us heaven and teach us 

how to win. 
And life's the time and time enough for us to do 

it in. 
O ! then I'll love this beauteous earth, that God has 

deigned to give. 



212 OUR CHARLIE. 

And love this life as long as God shall deign to let 

me live ; 
And whether feasting on his gifts or writhing 'neath 

His rod, 
I'll try to love whatever comes, because it comes 

from God, 
For O ! I know, if wisely loved, whatever here is 

given, 
'Twill bring a joyous harvest here and blissful one 

in heaven ; 
And O ! the more intense we love the blessings He 

imparts, 
Intenser love for Him who gave will thrill our grate- 
ful hearts. 

This theme we ponder day by day, though dimly 
understood. 

And ah ! the more we think of it, the more it does 
us good ; 

For each successive look emits an extra ray of light. 

And more and more it serves to show that Provi- 
dence was right ; 

And when we sigh, " Our boy is gone ! " as we full 
often sigh. 

Our faith and thoughts by mutual aid find many a 
reason why. 



OUR CHARLIE. 213 

The world lias grown unnatural now, and he that 

passes through 
With comfort and success, alas ! must grow unnatural 

too. 
The social strings that nature made and into harmony 

wrought 
Have been by self all disarranged and into discord 

brought ; 
The governor of this strange world, with all its light, 

is self. 
And pretty much the whole he wants of those he 

rules is pelf; 
And were the bonds of social love to keep him from 

his prey, 
'Twould take them in its ruthless hands and rend the 

bonds away. 
And ravage earth with fire and sword for that old 

Tyrant Self, 
And fill his gaping coffers up with plunder and with 

pelf. 
Or on his altar sacrifice e'en happiness and health. 
To gain that grossest, poorest gift that fortune gives 

us, — wealth. 

And 'tis to such a world as this, our children must 

belong. 
If they are left us long enough to join the motley 

throng ; 



214 OUR CHARLIE. 

And they must always be with them in all their 

tastes and ways, 
Or else, while mingling with the world, be martyrs 

all their days ; 
For though there are who're happy here, who live 

above the race. 
They're only those who've giant wills and thrilled by 



O ! then when our beloved ones are called away so 

young. 
And our sad hearts, at every pulse, in agony are 



Some reasons might, at every search, start up before 

the eye. 
To show 'twas best, and how 'twas best, our little 

ones should die ; 
And though full many a reason be ideal, dim, and 

crude, 
'Twill always do the mourning one a wondrous deal 

of good. 

Our blue-eyed boys and black-eyed girls so trusting, 

pure, and sweet. 
How would they this unnatural world with all its 

vagaries meet ? 
How would they battle with the world amidst its 

noise and strife. 



OUR CHARLIE. 215 

And cut a smooth and pleasant path through rough 

and stubborn Hfe ? 
That honeyed sweetness, that distils and captures 

every heart, 
Must first grow acid, ere it stands the ferment of 

life's mart ; 
That simple trust that in our breasts feels ne'er a 

tlirob of fear 
Must sceptic grow to meet the world so false and 

insincere ; 
The guileless heart that loves so well, without one 

selfish thought. 
Must love less ardent where it loves, and feign where 

it does not, — 
And that which Nature made to act so delicate a 

part 
Must drop all Nature's pretty ways and use tlie wiles 

of art. 
And for that little tender thing so loving, pure, and 

sweet, 
Must be a hardy Ishmaelite in cunning and deceit. 
Or bundle of affected wit and elegance and grace. 
And gain by some sly ruse de guerre a victory o'er 

the race, — 
In fine, to gain the most below and at the least ex- 
pense. 
Must grow far worse than now in fact and better in 

pretence. 



216 OUR CHARLIE. 

O ! how the questions will within the weeping bosom 

start, 
And throw a shadow or a gleam of sunshine o'er 

the heart : 
Would those dear ones, at whom Death's lance has 

been so rudely hurled, 
Have e'er been rude and coarse enough to battle 

with the world ? 
Or if they would and gained, beside, success's high- 
est prize. 
Would not the boon have been obtained at too much 

sacrifice ? 
Or was there not some unseen taint within the dear 

one's vein. 
That would have plagued him all his life and caused 

a life of pain ? 
Or moral idiosyncrasy, whose care and cure would 

ask 
More thought and skill than we should e'er have 

given to the task? 
Were we to search, who've seen cut down our loved 

ones in their bloom. 
And laid away like loathsome things within the silent 

tomb. 
We might behold the sunlight play among the tears 

we shed, 



OUR CHARLIE. 217 

And wreathing many a rainbow round the little 

sleeper's bed ; 
And should full many a reason find and many a 

cause espy, 
Why 'twas a blessed, blessed thing, our little ones 

should die. 

That dwarf on whom deformity has left so many a 

trace, 
We scarce could recognize him as belonging to the 

race ; 
That weary cripple tugging on, with crutches or with 

canes. 
And who must step and hobble on, with greatest care 

and pains ; 
That pallid youth, whom Phthisis now has robbed 

almost of breath. 
And kills by inches, dying on a lingering, living 

death ; 
That beggar-boy, in filth and rags, the badges that 

he wears. 
Who lies and cheats and beo-s and steals and for the 

dessert swears ; 
The tourist in mid-ocean wrecked, beneath an open 

sky. 
Where thirst and huno-er wrino- his soul until 'tis 

sweet to die ; 



218 OUR CHARLIE, 

The soldier, maimed and hacked and bruised, with 

little left behind, 
Except a torso with, alas ! a shattered heart and 

mind ; — 
Like those of whom I've sung above and those I 

might below. 
Of every grade and every shade of vice and want 

and woe. 
Our little ones, had they but lived, might, in the 

lapse of time, 
Have been the children of disease and woe and want 

and crime ; 
But now love's hand, love's velvet hand, has all in 

kindness come. 
And lifted up the tender ones, in all their sweetness, 

home. 
Where want and woe, disease and crime, can never 

more annoy, 
Nor anything can change or check a single thrill of 

joy; 

And if with faith's unclouded eye we take an up- 
ward view. 

And see as plain as aught on earth the glorious fact 
Is true. 

The tear would dry, the sigh would hush, and sor- 
row light to joy. 

To think about our angel girl or more than angel 
boy. 



OUR CHARLIE. 219 

But when poor weeping self comes in all staggering 

'neath the cross, 
And thinks, with all the pangs it brings, about the 

dreadful loss, 
The sio'h would swell and heave asain, the tears 

begin to flow. 
And all the fresh-born happiness be changed again 

to woe. 

'Tis ever thus, — when God afflicts to make his own 

obey, 
'Tis self that feels the blow the most, for self has led 

astraj. 
He never robs the industrious to give the lazy food. 
And ne'er afflicts the innocent to do the guilty good ; 
And though He crush our httle ones 'neath His 

almighty arm. 
He does it often for our good and never for their 

harm ; 
'Tis but uprooting tender plants in nurseries here 

below, 
To set them in a sunnier clime to strengthen, bud, 

and blow. 

'Tis true, God sometimes chastens men not for their 
good alone, 



220 



OUR CHARLIE. 



To plant reform in other hearts as well as in their 

own ; 
So kind is He, because He sees the unknown future 

through, 
He never chastens more than one, where only one 

will do. 
The curses heaped on Arnold's name, with earth's 

contempt and hate, 
Have doubtless saved full many a one from both his 

fame and fate. 



HOW GOD AFFLICTS. 



When God afflicts, the blow he deals is very seldoi 

dealt 
In such a way that 'tis by none but by the victii 

felt; 
He seems to want the healing balm affliction cai 

impart. 

To heal the one at whom He aims and many a kin- 
dred heart ; 
It seems to be the essence of our Heavenly Father's 

plan. 
To strike the blow and use the rod as little as He| 

can ; 
But when He strikes, 'tis His desire the blessing 

from the blow 



OUR CHARLIE. 221 

Should do as much and go as far as it can do and 

go. 
He made the mmd with enginery of plastic power 

and skill, 
To spread the healing balm abroad in harmony with 

His will. 
Old History takes the record up of folly, tyranny, 

crime. 
And hands it on from sire to son adown the course 

of time ; 
The social heart takes up the sigh from sorrow's 

gloomy hearth, 
And bears the dreadful teleo;ram about the listenino* 

earth ; 
And most of all, the ties of kin, the sweetest here 

below, 
Bear on the saddening thrill and melt the hearts to 

which they go. 
And thus by all these magic means, and countless 

thousands more. 
He sends the balm from heart to heart and wafts 

from shore to shore ; 
And all the fruits of Right and Wrong, and good 

and evil lie 
As beacon-lights which men and states can guide 

their actions by ; 
And so but one correcting rod and one paternal 

blow 



222 OUR CHARLIE. 

Suffices to induce reform in many a heart below ; 
And though chastising, evermore, in Providence will 

lurk, 
'Twill ever be, while time shall last, our Heavenly 

friend's " strange work." 

Why should He snatch our little ones from fond 

affection's arms. 
When just beginning to put on their most bewitches 

ing charms? 
How oft the question will come up. Why should ou 

children die ? 
And gleams of sunshine often flash and show some 

reasons why. 
The little ones so pure and sweet were sent us fron 

above. 
Dependent for their all below on faithftil earthly 

love ; 
If faithful, theirs is earthly joy as well as heavenly 

bliss. 
If faithless, then the dear ones lose the world to 

come and this. 
And then the weeping parent feels, and says it with 

a sigh, 
O ! if their all depends on me, 'tis better they should 

die. 
There's so much, in my case, of self to censure and 

condemn. 



OUR CHARLIE. 223 

It shows how much I might have wronged or failed 

to do for them ; 
This head of mine and heart of mine and body that 

I wear, 
All show the tokens of abuse or lack of skill and 

care. 
The honest parent oftentimes, however much he tries, 
Knows well his vigils will relax and culture grow 

unwise ; 
And almost fears., e'en when he tries the very best 

he can, 
To train his girl for womanhood, or boy to be a 

man. 
'Tis fearful to receive a soul that God has made and 

given. 
And train it so 'tis wretched here and fails to get to 

Heaven. 

Why should He take our little ones just sent us from 

above. 
Whom we have just begun to aid and just begun to 

love. 
And who, themselves, have just begun their infantile 

employ. 
To make their little cup of life a little cup of joy ; 
And while reclining midst the down of love's divine 

embrace, 



224 OUR CHARLIE. 

Have just begun to think the world a very clmrming 
place ? 



If those dear ones could always in that downy bosom 

rest, 
And every breast on which they'll lean would be 

affection's breast, — 
If fortune would forever smile and never wear a 

frown. 
And sickness never plant a pang within that bed of 

down, — 
And if this w^orld of ours would seem, all through its 

brief career. 
As pleasant and as sweet a spot as we esteem it 

here, — 
Far fewer glimpses of the truth would meet the 

inquirer's eye. 
To make the thing a little plain and tell the reason 

why. 
The broken fortunes that succeed the hasty heels of 

gain, 
The shattered hearts and ruined minds that mingle 

in the train, 
The perjured bosoms that invite within their pleasant 

nests 

The aching head, and plant a sting within the trust- 
ing breasts, 



OUR CHARLIE. 225 

And countless throngs of ills beside whose venomed 
curses ope, 

And crush the flowers of human joy and blast the 
buds of hope, — 

All these things come up, every day, to fond Affec- 
tion's eye, 

And whisper in its listening ear a thousand reasons 
why. 

Why should He take our little ones, who've just 

begun to live 
The lovely lives that He has deigned mysteriously to 

give ? 

If life were all, designed for us, and Jordan's farther 
bank 

Were nothing but a gloomy spot or nothing but a 
blank. 

We might, indeed, the question ask, and ask it with 
a sigh. 

How can a God, whose name is love, bid little chil- 
dren die ? 

And lesser light than now appears would aid us from 
above, 

To show a God who thus decrees can be a God of 
love. 



15 



226 OUR CHARLIE. 

When faith has vital power enough to show our little 

ones, 
Just as they are in Paradise upon their little thrones, 
And see what rapture thrills their hearts within those 

realms of joy, 
Without a single moment's pause or tincture of 

alloy, 
And see what fair and beautiful and sweet and lovely 

things. 
That move around so gracefully upon their golden 

wings ; 
Methinks, we should not heave a sigh nor shed a 

single tear, 
Nor wish the darlings back again to spend a moment 

here. 
Or if a sigh, or if a tear, or if a wish, arise, 
*T would be to have the time arrive to meet them in 

the skies. 

If life is but the nursery that God has kindly 
given. 

To train up souls, immortal souls, for happiness and 
Heaven, 

Why should He snatch our little ones who've just 
begun to grow 

To show so much of loveliness and charm our home- 
steads so, — 



OUR CHARLIE. 227 

And show in every little bud and every little shoot 
The infant germs of loveliness and sweetest moral 
fruit? 

If earth were all the paradise where deathless plants 

may grow, 
And Heaven were not so genial as this dimmer 

Heaven below ; 
Nay, if it were not brighter far and sunnier far than 

this. 
For deathless spirits to expand and ripen into bliss. 
When we stand weeping round their beds to see our 

dear ones die. 
We might with reason look to Heaven and ask the 

reason why. 

Behold the little infant plants that in their nurseries 

stand. 
And shoot aloft so prettily all o'er their native land, 
'Tis not the loftiest of these plants, transplanted out 

of these. 
That grow the best and look the best and make the 

nicest trees. 
The little tender infant plants whose roots are only 

threads. 
That cling with but the slightest hold within their 

native beds, 



228 OUR CHARLIE. 

Uprooted and transported where they're meant to 

grow to trees, 
The lovehest, fairest, fertilest, of all the rest, are 

these. 
And though a tree may sometimes thrive, removed 

and set with care, 
And grow as well as smaller trees, 'tis very, very 

rare ; 
And in this moral nursery. Earth, where little spirits 

come. 
And form that jewel character and go to Heaven, 

their home, 
'Tis not the loftiest spirits here, most erudite and 

wise. 
That make the brightest, happiest ones, transplanted 

to the skies. 
The little one that only lights within this world of 

ours. 
And plucks a little gem or two within its thorny 

bowers, 
FHes gayly up to paradise, — God's image yet com- 
plete. 
Untouched by anything below, excepting what is 

sweet ; 
For that unsullied excellence that pleases Heaven is 

not 
So much the product of how much we gain on earth 

as what 



OUR CHARLIE. 229 

Achievement, howe'er great or small, lias merit or 

has none. 
Weighed not alone by what we do, but what we 

might have done. 
The widow's mite, though so minute, was worthier 

of regard, 
Than all the gorgeous charity of any rich Girard ; 
For although millions measured his, the princely gift 

was small, 
When weighed against the widow's mite, because 

she gave her all. 
And when the little child goes up before the great 

white throne, 
With but its little nosegay decked, its little moral 

one, 
He'll look as fair and be as sweet and have as much 

of love 
As he Avho wears the proudest wreath of moral flow- 
ers above. 
With all that wafts a mortal up to yonder realms of 

light. 
There's much that presses down again and checks the 

upward flight ; 
And while we're gathering flowers below to weave 

our heavenly crown. 
We're gathering more of earth each day that serves 

to press us down ; 



230 OUR CHARLIE. 

And though long hfe cull heavenly flowers, each 

moment m the way, 
'Tis just as sure to find earth's thorns and pluck 

them every day ; 
And nought but grace, aboundmg grace, that guides 

and checks and warns. 
Prevents a man from gathering here, instead of flow- 
erets, thorns. 
O ! yes, methinks, to enter Heaven, for which the 

ransomed yearn, 
The aged veteran has much more he must unlearn 

than learn ; 
And when he goes to taste the joys that thrill all 

hearts above, 
And midst the pure inhabitants to do the work of 

love. 
The ugly moral knots and twists, an earthly growth 

has given. 
Must be untied and straightened out to enter into 

Heaven ; 
But when the little child goes up, all tender, pure, 

and sweet. 
And roves the fields of paradise and walks the X; 

golden street, 
A single breath of heavenly love, a single touch of 

grace, 
Would every little spot remove and every stain 

efface : 



OUR CHARLIE. 231 

No ugly spot or tortuous growth is left on heart or 
mmd, 

Nor e'en the slightest touch of ill leaves any trace 
behind. 

And when to Heaven's pure studies there the new- 
born spirits turn, 

The little ones have nought to do but set them down 
and learn, 

While age so long to errors w^ed, to earth-born habits 
given. 

Must first unlearn and shake them off, ere studying 
truth in Heaven. 

The ransomed soul that stays on earth for threescore 
years and ten, 

And mingles in the scenes of life among his fellow- 
men. 

Must carry through yon pearly gate, to Heaven's un- 
fading plains. 

Some little faint dissolving views of moral spots and 
stains ; 

Or if not so, — if spots and stains that gate forever 
bars, — 

The ransomed ones, though pure and clear, must 
carry in the scars. 

The Man of Sorrows even yet his bleeding wounds 
displays, 

The loveliest sight in paradise on which the blessed 
gaze, 



232 OUR CHARLIE. 

And shall the ransomed, who have been by sovereign 

love forgiven, 
Bear no memorial of its power when they appear in 

Heaven ? 
O ! yes ; for though in Paradise, that pure and holy 

place. 
There'll be no spot or wrinkle there on any child of 

grace, 
Methinks, the shadow of the past upon the golden 

floor 
Will show, though so angelic now, just what they 

were before. 
And then portrayed in all its truth the contrast serves 

to prove 
What love has done and at each glance awakes new 

thrills of love ; 
But when the little child goes up so pure and fair 

and sweet. 
If there's a little shadow falls beneath his merry 

feet. 
It must be very faint indeed, it must be very fair, 
And on the golden pave of Heaven be scarce a 

blemish there. 
Beside the rainbow oft is seen a secondary glow. 
Almost as bright and gay and pure and beautiful a 

bow. 
And if beneath our Charlie's feet a shadowy image 

lies. 






OUR CHARLIE. 233 

It must be like a cherub boy who roves in Para- 
dise ; 

For O ! dear Charhe, though removed to yonder 
spotless sphere, 

Thou canst not be much sweeter there and purer 
there than here. 

Of all the truths in truth's domain, the richest and 

the best 
Is this, that God desires to make his erring children 

blest ; 
And as He knows each vital thread of which the 

soul is wove. 
And which the one that thrills with hate and which 

the one with love. 
And which the little quivering thread that, by His 

touch inspired. 
Will call out from the human heart the moral fruit 

desired, 
If gold's the weight that keeps us down, the glitter- 
ing prize is riven. 
And then we plume our lightened wings and sail 

away to Heaven ; 
If pleasure is the polar star by which life's tide we 

stem. 
He clouds our sky and then we take the star of 

Bethlehem ; 



234 OUR CHARLIE. 

If children are our idols, O ! He lays them 'neat 

the sod, 
And then we have no idol ones between ourselve 

and God ; 
And if poor earth is all we want, some pleasan; 

thing is riven, 
That makes earth seem with all its charms a little 

less like Heaven ; 
And if a sin2;le chastisement that God has evei 

sent 
Has failed of wakening in the heart the sweet emo 

tion meant, 
'Twas never that He touched a cord unsuited to the 

thing, 
But we had got it out of tune or paralyzed the string, 
The fruit-tree springing from the earth, and from a 

vigorous root. 
Will surely bear, if there's no foe to intercept the 

fruit. 
The goodness of our God, that drops so sweetly from 

above. 
Wakes in the heart, when 'tis in tune, the finest 

thrills of love ; 
And yet, though feasting every hour upon his boun- 
ties given, 
Man is a rebel and a foe to all that's dear to 

Heaven. 



OUR CHARLIE. 235 

And tlieii, to catch the untuned heart, He wakes a 

harsher strain, 
Till the poor sufferer feels the pang and tunes the 

strings again. 
Ah ! mourner for a darling child, whom God has 

called to die. 
Is there no light from all these thoughts that tells 

some reasons why? 
Ah ! look within and read your heart and all its his- 
tory scan. 
And weigh the changing lights and shades impartial 

as you can. 
You'll find, perhaps, since kindness failed to give the 

blessing sought. 
He sends, alas ! some chastisement by which the boon 

was brought; 
And if this fail, like those before, to bring the golden 

grain. 
Beware lest, out of purest love, your Father smite 

again ; 
And each successive providence in love's alembic 

passed 
May grow more frequent and intense and crashing 

to the last. 



236 OUR CHARLIE. 



FAITH. 

A VOICE from Nature's mellow tongue, a messa^ 

from above, 
In accents plain as angels use, proclaim that " God 

is love," 
And yet from many and many a crash in Natm-e's 

grand career. 
And many and many a providence that brings a sob 

and tear, 
There comes a harsh, discordant voice, there comes 

a mournful wail. 
That whisper to the sorrowing heart a very different 

tale. 
And Reason, with its boasted skill and boasted power 

of thought. 
Is powerless, with its two-edged sword, to cut the 

Gordian knot. 
'Tis true, we feel He must be kind in so much good 

He's given. 
And that love sometimes shows its face in His af- 
flictions even. 
But oftener far, when sorrow comes and wraps us in 

its pall. 
We cannot see a hand of love or heart of love at 

all. 



OUR CHARLIE. 237 

We cannot feel, at such an hour, without the aid of 

grace, 
" Behind a frowning providence He shows a smiHng 

face." 
'Tis only Faith can purge the heart and make us 

really feel. 
The dreadful blow that makes us writhe was only 

meant to heal, — 
'Tis only Faith can clear the eye and help us look 

above. 
And see through all earth's clouds and storms the 

truth that " God is love." 
Until Faith aid, however bright the distant prospect 

seem, 
'Tis but a dim Apocalypse, a very pleasant dream ; 
But when Faith comes in all its power, and sets its 

beams in play. 
The mists disperse, the gloom dissolves, and all is 

bright as day ; 
The Heaven to which the pathway leads, in which 

it bids us go. 
Seems real, as if just ahead within these realms 

below. 
When dear ones die and we, alas ! are staggering 

'neath the cross, 
There's nothing in this weary world alleviates the 

loss ; 



238 OUR CHARLIE. 

The dreadful truth, daguerreotyped in every act and 

thought, 
Is that we had an angel once, but now we have him 

not ; 
And every act and every look and every vision 

come 
And bring the lovely image back, in all its witchery, 

home ; 
And then we sit and weep and sigh and ponder and 

reflect, 
And call up all the pleasant scenes in life's short 

retrospect. 
And howe'er sweet, they've lost the power to make 

us gay and glad. 
And ah ! the sweeter they were once, the more they 

make us sad. 
We think of days and months and years, all brim- 
ming o'er with joy. 
Because so filled with sweetness by our darling girl 

or boy ; 
But now time lags with snail-like pace, and all looks 

dark and drear. 
Because those little messengers of gladness are not 

here ; 
And then we think how we were wont to wait and 

watch and pray. 
To see new buds of promise swell and blossom every 

day, 



OUR CHARLIE. 239 

And how we daily, fondly hoped, our. dear one's 
pretty name 

Would sometimes stand upon the roll of usefulness 
and fame ; 

And then we say, ah ! Halcyon days ! and feel, be- 
cause so bright, 

Their setting sun has left us *neath a pall of darkest 
night ; 

And then we think of home, sweet home, so Eden- 
like before. 

When the young prattlers sang and laughed and 
scooted round the floor. 

The song is hushed, the laugh is o'er, and prattler- 
less each room. 

And, save poor sorrow's sighs and groans, 'tis silent 
as the tomb, — 

Far gloomier than it would have been, had it ne'er 
brimmed with joy. 

From that enchanting little girl or love-bud of a 
boy; 

And then we think of all we did to aid and guide 
. and cheer. 

To make him good and wise and kind and merry- 
hearted here, 

And sometimes fear, however much we tried to aid 
our son. 

There might be acts we did not do, but which we 
might have done. 



240 OUR CHARLIE. 

We think how much we watched his health, and 

fancied all along 
The course we took to aid and train would make 

him firm and strong ; 
But, looking back, we shudder now to think of many 

a way. 
By which we might have saved our boy to cheer our' 

home to-day, 
And sometimes think of many an act in purest kind- 
ness done. 
We then thought wise, but now we fear it was an 

unwise one, 
Or some ungentle deed we did that sudden passion 

woke. 
Or some unkind rebuke we made or hasty word wc 

spoke. 
Or sweet request we thoughtlessly refiised our little 

boy. 
That might have thrilled with many a sweet, his 

little cup of joy. 
Or some indulgence we allowed because he begged 

us so. 
We were not wise or firm enough to kindly tell 

him no ; 
And so all through the buried past we bid the fancy 

run. 



OUR CHARLIE. 241, 

And gather up the memories of our dear, darhug 

son, 
And whether to the gay or sad the fancy chance 

to go, 
It always brings a keener pang to thrill our cup of 

woe. 
There's nothing comforts, nothing cheers, and nothing- 
soothes our grief. 
And silence, like a raven, sits upon life's current leaf; 
And then we call for Reason's aid and bid it look 

about. 
And try to make the matter plain and solve each 

lingering doubt. 
We think how short is human life, how swift the 

moments fly. 
And had he lived however long, how soon he'd have 

to die. 
And since time first beg-an to take our dauo;hters and 

our sons, 
By far the most of all our graves have been our little 

ones ; 
That children drop like Autumn leaves and strew 

the velvet ground. 
But Time, that slew, comes like a friend and heals 

the ghastly wound, 
That we can see the havoc made by vice, where'er 

we go, 

16 



242 OUR CHARLIE. 

And life all pleasant at the first becomes a life of 

woe ; 
That ruin, in unnumbered ways, like its great author, 

roams, 
And with its heedless chariot-wheels, rides over 

hearts and homes ; 
That friendship, the divinest boon that God has sent 

below. 
Oft, Judas-like, betrays its friends, and grows our 

deadliest foe ; 
That health, that rosy messenger from Heaven, its 

native bower. 
Though sent to all, scarce visits one with all its bliss 

and power ; 
For when we're breaking Nature's laws, the ruddy 

goddess flees. 
For in the train of broken laws there always comes 

disease, 
And rebels against Nature will, in one continual 

strife, 
Be murdered, piecemeal, inch by inch, at every step 

through life ; 
And 'tis a truth exceptionless that never had a 

pause, 
That every man's a suiferer from breaking Nature's 

laws ; 
That wild Ambition fires the soul to gain the glit- 
tering prize. 



OUR CHARLIE.' 243 

It fails, or gaining, finds the joy Ambition promised 

lies ; 
That Avarice, nnsated fiend, whose rallying cry is 

'^ More ! " 
Makes most, grown richer, every hour feel poorer 

than before, 
Till the poor miser, having grown so hollow-eyed and 

gaunt. 
Pines on from lack of care and food and dies at 

length from want ; 
And appetites and passions swarm like locusts here 

below. 
Destroying every pleasant thing and scattering want 
K and woe ; 

And that gross despot, grovelling sense, with his de- 
basins; train. 
Stands keeping vigil, everywhere, to rivet on his 

chain. 
All these, alas ! and myriads more too numerous to 

be sung, 
All must encounter every hour who're not promoted 
p young. 

Thus while with Reason's eagle eye we're passing in 

review 
These Scyllas and Charybdes, strown life's fitful 

journey through. 



244 'OUR CHARLIE. 

A momentary thrill of joy is for our solace given, 
To think our boy escaped them all and landed safe 

in Heaven ; 
But O ! 'tis but one ray of light that flashes through 

the gloom, 
Unbroken nio-ht rebounds ao;ain from little Charlie's 

tomb. 
The little face that smiled so sweet and made all 

bright before. 
Lives but on faithful memory's leaf and in this 

bosom's core 
No magic, Reason can bestow, or potence lend the . 

sight. 
Can make his Heaven seem real gain and make his 

loss se^m right ; 
'Tis not till Faith comes kindly in, and with her 

magic wand. 
Parts the dim veil 'twixt Heaven and earth and 

shows us all beyond. 
And makes us feel so plain we know., without the 

sense of sight. 
That what God does, whate'er it be, is good and 

just and right ; 
And more than this, when gauged and tried by love's 

divinest test, 
Whate'er he does, severe or kind, it must be for the 

best : 



OUR CHARLIE. 245 

And when, with faith to aid and guide, we've looked 

the vision through, 
Till all the film of doubt is gone and we can feel 'tis 

true, 
And God's unerring sovereignty and Heaven's un- 
fading bliss. 
And that there is an endless life awaits us after 

this. 
And when the ties that bind us here shall one by 

one be riven. 
The good will feast forever on the endless bliss of 

Heaven — 
When all these truths, ideal now, shall into real 

grow. 
And seem as destitute of doubt as things we see and 

know, 
The pang of sorrow that we feel at losing such a 

boy. 
When touched by grace, will be but thrills of purest 

heavenly joy. 

When captured by the charms of faith, the head and 

heart unite. 
And both can banquet at her board with profit and 

delight, 
And life and death, disease and health, and loss and 

ffain shall be 



246 • OUR CHARLIE. 

The perfect notes when all combined that make 

Heaven's harmony ; 
Then, when our prattling innocents fly off to yonder 

shore, 
And shed the sunshine of their love on home, sweel 

home, no more. 
The only sigh of sorrow then from feeling's fount to 

start, 
The only pang of anguish then to rend the aching 

heart, 
Would be the sigh, would be the tear, would be the 

pang of pain. 
That we should never see or hear our darling ones 

again ; 
And when we take in all the truth, the sorrow for 

our boy 
Is more than paid, a thousand times, with little Char- 
lie's joy ; 
And when we can lay self aside, though staggering 

'neath the rod. 
And feel the deed was done in love, because 'twas 

done by God, — 
The God that spread yon dome of blue and pinned 

it up with stars, 
That move around in magic dance without mistakes 

or jars, — 
Who traced the shrubs and trees of earth and beau- 
tified the gems, 



I 



OUR CHARLIE. 247 

By stringing richest jewelry upon their .boughs and 

stems, — 
Who made the boundless universe around, below, 

above. 
And wrote upon it everywhere the beauteous motto, 

"Love;" 
Or if His wrath, instead of love, appears our hopes 

to scathe, 
'Tis but another formula of heavenly love to faith. 
Who made these wondrous frames we wear so curi- 
ously wove, 
These minds of ours to meditate, these hearts of ours 

to love, 
And these undying souls within, which, when the 

body dies. 
Will live and seek companionship above the starry 

skies, — 
'Tis such a God who did the deed, who took our 

Charlie home, 
To sing the song and rove the fields above yon starry 

dome. 
To study all his wondrous works as spirits do above. 
And most of all and best of all, the lessons of His 

love. 

While thus we look and thus we think and ponder 
on the act, 



248 OUR CHARLIE. 

And read k with the eye of faith and feel it as a 
fact; 

Our bosoms heave with wild delight that He whose 
name is love 

Should deem it best that our dear boy should live 
with Him above, 

And that 'twould add new thrills of bliss to Heaven's 
unbounded joy, 

That Charlie should an angel be, instead of little 
boy; 

And that to make e'en Heaven itself, more beautiful 
and fair. 

He came to us and took from us our little Charlie 
there. 

And now no longer sweetening earth, by his bewitch- 
ing love. 

He draws us up and makes it sweet to lift our 
thoughts above. 

And when we quite forget the past and cast our eyes 
before, 

To look with faith's unclouded eye to yonder " shin- 
ing shore," 

And feel the truth in all its power that it portrays 
so plain. 

That there's the spot where we shall meet our little 
boy again ; 

Our struggling bosoms leap for joy and we're com- 
pelled to say. 



OUR CHARLIE. 249 

" Fly swifter round ye wheels of time and bring the 

welcome day." 
O I when on prospects such as these our meditations 

run, 
The heart looks up brimful of love and says, " Thy 

will be done." 



THE PAST. 

Ha ! restless spirit, dost thou yet stand shuddering at 

the cross, 
And rove around and weep among the memories of 

thy loss ? 
O ! lino-er still, for much of all the si;ood that we've 

amassed 
Has come from lessons that we learned by talking 

with the past ; 
Success and failure both alike have choicest things to 

give. 
And good and bad have wit enough to teach us how 

to live ; 
For though along the buried past the wisest ones 

will throng. 
There's such a thing as lingering there and studying 

there too long. 
The limit of our stay should be to get but just the lore 



250 OUR CHARLIE. 

That may suffice to help us Hve more nobly than 

before ; 
All else were lumber from the past except the moral 

food, 
To strengthen mmds, to sweeten hearts, and do the 

spirit good ; 
But he that lingers in the past, where no sweet 

floweret blooms. 
Is sure to be like him at length who dwelt among 

the tombs. 
But yet, methinks, the danger is that earth's unthink- 
ing throng 
Will linger there not long enough far oftener than 

too long ; 
And while they're there, their thoughts, alas ! will be 

so vague and crude. 
They scarcely get a single thing that really does them 

good. 
And so there is a double loss that pierces through 

and through. 
They lose the darling of their hearts and lose the 

blessing too. 

O ! yes, till weary life goes out with all its days and 

years. 
We shall go back to Charlie's grave and water it 

with tears, 



OUR CHARLIE. 251 

And so 'tmll keep remembrance fresh and let it 
not grow dim, 

For although he's so far from us, we're fast ap- 
proaching him. 

TEARS. 

Yes, mourning parents bend above your lost one's 

little bier, 
There is a spell from Paradise that quivers in a 

tear. 
For O ! the tear the heart sends out, all pure and 

bright and warm, 
Will melt the soul in tenderness and never do you 

harm. 
The struggling soul that finds at last its sins are all 

forgiven, 
Ne'er starts, without a flood of tears, upon the road 

to Heaven. 
The new-born bliss forgiveness brings, the crystal 

flood employs. 
To show the depth and loveliness of its diviner joys, 
'Tis better far, oui' Father says, in his unerring 

tome, 
To be within the mourner's cot than in the revel- 
ler's home ; 
The haughtiest heart, the proudest heart, the guiltiest 

heart will melt. 



252 OUR CHARLIE. 

If anywhere where tears are shed and keenest anguish 

felt ; 
Though Sorrow has a shaft to wound, she has a balm 

to heal, 
She has a dreadful pang to bear and pleasant thrills 

to feel, 
But never till she's tried her powers and every trial 

failed. 
And every bulwark round the heart she could assail, 

assailed, 
Does she the sword of justice draw and in the cul- 
prit thrust, 
Or e'en beneath her vengeful heels she tramples liim 

to dust. 
O I Sorrow has a mission here, the sweetest ever 

given. 
To melt the heart till it will take the signet seal of 

Heaven ; 
But if she fail, with all her powers, to cause the heart 

to feel. 
Or fail to soften it enough to take the signet seal. 
Or if the bosom still remains unthrilled and un de- 
vout, 
'Tis that it takes in other things and leaves poor 

Sorrow out ; 
O ! then let us let Sorrow in until her mission's 

through, 



OUR CHARLIE. 253 

And she has done us all the good she has the power 
to do. 

Ah ! mourner, do not dry your tears, but let them 
freely flow. 

For from so pure a crystal fount the sweetest flower- 
ets grow ; 

O ! check them not, the tears will cease when Sor- 
row's w^ork is o'er. 

And 'twould not benefit the heart to stay a moment 
more. 

'Tis true she tarries longer where she's kindly asked 
to stay. 

And where the heart communes with her and hears 
her every day. 

But, then, she'll plat a crown for him and take away 
the cross. 

And leave a gain enough to pay a thousand times 
the loss ; 

And round the wounded spirit's brow entwine a gar- 
land, wove 

Of faith and hope, and that bright gem, the best and 
greatest, love. 



254 OUR CHARLIE. 



SABBATH-SCHOOL INCIDENT. 

'TwAS In the little Sabbath School where Charlie 
used to go, 

And he was seldom absent there, because he loved 
it so, — 

And though as merry as a lark through all the live- 
long day. 

And foremost in the merry ring whene'er they met 
for play ; 

And if in farce or comedy, whichever part he bore. 

He always acted well his part and always caused a 
roar ; 

And when he wore his soldier-hat or took his sword 
or gun. 

He made, for one as small as he, a great amount of 
fun ; 

And old or young or grave or gay or lively or 
severe. 

Were always glad, exceeding glad, to see our boy 
appear ; 

For it was known to every one who knew our dar- 
ling son, 

Where'er he came that there would be some pure 
good-natured fun ; 

For Charlie had a fund of sense and fund of mother 
wit, 



OUR CHARLIE. 255 

And often made a sage remark and oft a liappy hit, 
And home, our home, was never made so gayly to 

rejoice, 
As when it runs from room to room with little 

Charlie's voice ; — 
But though a merrier boy than he you'd find not, 

if you search. 
He was a perfect model boy at Sabbath School and 

Church : 
His open manly countenance and smiling cheerful 

face 
Seemed always quite in harmony with business, time, 

and place. 
And never did our darling son, in act or word or 

air, 
Commit the slightest breach of right or strict decorum 

there ; 
And when he saw a boisterous boy or thoughtless 

girl depart 
From rules of strict propriety, it always pained his 

heart. 
And many a time his mild blue eye ran o'er with 

tears, alas ! 
When some rude girl or ruder boy disturbed the 

little class. 

It was the last fine Sabbath-day, when Charlie was 
to meet 



256 OUR CHARLIE. 

The last fleet hour that he, alas ! would occupy that 

seat ; 
Intently as the busy bee the rosy nectar sips, 
He'd drunk in every thought and word that left the 

teacher's lips ; 
He'd heard the girls their hymns repeat, the boys 

their lessons say, 
And when the teacher knelt in prayer, he knelt with 

her to pray ; 
And when the little boys and girls had sung their 

pleasant airs. 
He joined his rich and mellow voice in sweet accord 

with theirs, — 
O I never was a happier boy, we always used to 

say. 
And never was he happier than he was that Sabbath- 
day. 

Their business now was almost done, the session 

almost o'er. 
But 'twas their custom ere they went to sing a little 

more, 
When Charlie said, " Please let us sing, Miss Spear, 

before we go, 
* I want to be an angel,' for I love to sing it so." 
'Twas sung, and his sweet mellow voice helped sing 

the favorite strain, 



OUR CHARLIE. 257 

He sang, but with that httle choir he never sang 

again ; 
He had his wish, — a few weeks more and all earth's 

ties were riven, 
And Charlie was an angel-boy among the blest in 

Heaven. 

It is not strange a little child, who dearly loved to 

sing, 
Should choose that favorite little air, for 'tis a charm- 
ing thing; 
But when I think its words and thoughts and honeyed 

notes combined 
Were so in harmony with his pm'e and gentle heart 

and mind; 
It is a very pleasant thought that when he took his 

flight 
From that retreat of innocence so brimmino; with 

delight. 
He went off singing, as he flew, the same sweet 

melody, 
"I want to be an angel," and he went to Heaven 

to be, 
And then, methought, on new-born wings, I saw our 

Charlie soar. 
And enter through the pearly gates upon the golden 

floor, 

17 



258 OUR CHARLIE. 

Still singing, but a little changed to suit the spirit- 
land, 
" I am a httle angel-boy and with the angels stand." 



INCIDENT. 

His little sister and himself were at their usual 

play, 

And Charhe seemed more learned and wise than was 

his wont that day : 
He talked of secular affairs as wisely as before, 
And then began to show his fund of theologic lore ; 
He talked of earth and sea and air and of the starry 

sky, 
And how God hung the curtain up and pinned it up 

so high ; 
He told her how God made the world", and told how 

long it took, 
And how, before 'twas finished quite, old chaos used 

to look; 
He told her how He scooped the bed and put the 

ocean there. 
And how He makes the lightnings flash and bellow 

through the air ; 
He told her how he formed the sun and made it look 

so bright. 



OUR CHARLIE. 259 

And how He put in gas enough to furnish earth with 

light ; 
He told her how He made the moon and hung it in 

the au% 
And how and why He made the man who's always 

sitting there ; 
He cleared up all the mysteries how man was made 

and why, 
And what they'll be and where they'll go, when they 

shall come to die. — 
For Charlie, in Theology, was just as orthodox 
In all his views of sacred truth as Calvin, Huss, or 

Knox, 
And when his logic failed to bring the true solution 

out. 
He always had another way by which to solve the 

doubt. 

He told her God had power enough to Uft this world 
and all. 

And toss it in the air as we can toss a rubber ball ; 

He told her nothing here below was from his knowl- 
edge hid. 

And God covdd see the smallest act that anybody 
did,— 

And all the marvels he could tell or wondrous things 
could say, 



260 OUR CHARLIE. 

He told his sister while she sat and listened on that 

day, 
And Helen heard him talk and talk, till she was 

almost awed, 
To hear him talk so learnedly about God's works and 

God, 
And said to Charlie, leaning on her elbow on the 

floor. 
As if she never even dreamed he knew so much 

before, — 
" How is it, Charlie, that you know (and here she 

gave a nod) 
So much as you have told about the works of God 

and God?" 
And Charlie answered gravely as a judge upon the 

bench, — 
" I do not know, except it be because I've studied 

French." 



CHARLIE AT THE COMMUNION. 

'TwAS one of those sweet Sabbath-days when those 

that love the Lord 
Are wont to gather round His board obedient to His 

word, — 
When none but those who think they've met a 

Saviour from above 



OUR CHARLIE. 261 

Are wont to come and gladly take the symbols of 

His love, 
And Charlie to his mother said, as sweet as cherubs 

say, 
*' Dear Mamma, let me go with you and sit with you 

to-day." 
" But 'tis Communion," she replied, " when children 

all retire ; 
No sermon's given nor organ played nor singing by 

the choir." 
"But let me go, for Christ, you know, bade little 

children come, 
And I'd much rather go with you than stay, alas ! 

at home." 

And so we went, and Charlie went, all sparkling with 

delight, 
And watching every word and act throughout the 

simple rite ; 
And when they prayed, he joined in prayer, and 

when they sung, he sung, 
And when the pastor rose and spoke, he on each 

accent huno;. 
O ! how he watched the minister while breaking up 

the bread 
And pouring out the sacred wine which looked so 

pure and red ! — 



262 OUR CHARLIE. 

And when they took the bread and wme, how calm 
he looked to see, 

And seemed as if he wished to say, O ! is there none 
for me ? 

It seemed as if his little heart was perfectly in tune 

With what a Christian's ought to be when going to 
commune. 

And so delighted Charlie was, that when we went 
away. 

He said, '' Dear Mamma, let me come on each Com- 
munion-day, 

I love to sit with you. Mamma, upon that httle seat. 

For everything appears so calm and everything so 
sweet ; 

I hope that you will always let your Httle Cliarlie 
come, 

'Tis so much sweeter staying here than 'tis to stay 
at home." 

And when assured that he might come, I can't de- 
scribe the joy 

That wreathed the face and lit the eye of our 
beloved boy. 

Ah ! little dreamed we, that when next around that 

festal board 
We should sit down to celebrate the sufferings of our 

Lord, 



OUR CHARLIE. 263 

The little clierub at our side would from our hearts 

be riven, 
And sit down sweetly at the side of Him he loved 

in Heaven. 

We thank thee, Heavenly Father, for the honoi 

Thou hast done, 
To let our only son sit down beside thine only Son. 

Seems this a trifle to our minds? it seems not so to 

ours, 
'Tis one of sweet remembrance's enchanting little 

flowers ; 
It is a flower that never fades, but which unceasing 

gives 
A sweet aroma to the heart as long as memorv 
P lives ;^ 

And this delightful incident will ever serve to show 
That Charlie's heart was tuned for Heaven, while he 

was here below ; 
And howe'er gay and full of fiin when in a merry 

mood. 
He dearly loved to be among the gentle, pure, and 

good. 

And now on each Communion-day, Avhen gathered 
at our place. 



264 OUR CHARLIE. 

The little fellow seems to come and show his smiling 

face ; 
And as we take the bread and wine that show a 

Saviour's love, 
We long sometimes to take them new with our dear 

boy above, 
And think if 'twere so sweet below to sit beside us 

even. 
What ecstasy 'twill be for us to sit with him in 

Heaven. 



CHARLIE AT ST. PETER'S. 

The one who's been beyond the sea and travelled 

and explored 
The almost countless realms that deck old Europe's 

checker-board, 
Will ne'er forget how, everywhere as busily as bees, 
Officials used to hail him with "Your passports, if 

you please." 
And if a city was in sight or village came in view, 
A passport only oped the gate and let the traveller 

through ; 
And when he entered a hotel for food or sleep or 

ease. 
Ere getting either, he must hear, " Your passport, 

if you please." 



1 



I 
OUR CHARLIE. 265 

And if beneath Italian skies and midst Italian scenes, 
He went to see with curious eye what all her magic 

means, 
He found almost at every turn official beggars stand. 
And crying, " Passport, if you please," thrust out the 

eager hand. 

And little Charlie had seen this repeated o'er and 

o'er. 
Since first he set his little foot upon a foreign shore, 
Until he almost thought that when two persons came 

in sight, 
A passport was the only thing to make the meeting 

right. 

'Twas when our tour was lengthened out and reached 
as far as Rome, 

That we, one day, were roving round beneatli St. 
Peter's dome ; 

Our little boy and little girl were gayly running 
o'er 

From side to side, from end to end, upon the mar- 
ble floor. 

While looking at the wonders there, stood little 
groups around, 

Who felt, if 'twas not holy, it w^as really magic 
ground. — 



266 OUR CHARLIE. 



A man of dignified address and very lofty mien, 
Apart, of com'se, from all the rest, was in the tran- 
sept seen. 
And any one, with half an eye, would know him 

from that isle, 
Where 'tis a sin to crack a joke and ungenteel to smile, 
And worse than all a thousand times, where he might 

chance to go. 
To look at one or talk with one whose rank he did 
not know. 

But Charlie, never noticing such trivial things as 
these. 

Stepped up to him and gently said, " Your passport, 
if you please." 

Sir Dignity looked round surprised, but as he saw 
the child. 

With pleasure flashing in his eye. Sir Buckram really 
smiled, 

And, without knowing what he was, — a peasant or 
a peer. 

He said, " My boy, to tell the truth, I have no pass- 
port here." 

Is this a trifling incident ? O ! nothing can be truer. 
But 'twas a pleasant beam of light that beautified 
our tour ; 



OUR CHARLIE. 267 

And it will be a retrospect that ne'er will cease to 

give 
A thrill of pleasure to our hearts as long as we shall 

live, — 
That, with his sunny, merry face, our Charlie could 

beguile. 
And melt a frigid Englishman until compelled to 

smile. 



WHERE IS HEAVEN? 

Where is that fadeless Paradise where God has 

built His throne ? 
And where He sits in majesty approachless and 

alone ? 
The contemplative soul looks up and, with a heart-felt 

sigh, 
Attempts to fancy where it is within the starry 

sky. 
And sad bereavement, with its tears all o-ushins down 

its eyes. 
Cries, Tell me where my dear ones are, — O ! where 

is Paradise ? 
They tell me Heaven is fall of love and running o'er 

with joy. 
And bliss ecstatic is the fruit of its divine employ, 



268 OUR CHARLIE. 

And beauty reigns without alloy all o'er the happy 

place, 
And every form of loveliness and every form of 

grace, 
And they that rove around the realm are unre- 
strained and free, 
And are as happy and content as blessed ones 

can be, 
And it may be that this and all God teaches should 

suffice. 
Till we get there, to know about the things of 

Paradise ; 
Yet wounded spirits, from whose hearts beloved ones 

are riven. 
And who have gone, they feel assured, to happiness 

and Heaven, 
Will ask themselves, will ask the learned, w^ll ask 

the Book of Love, 
O ! where is Heaven, that blissfril place, within the 

realms above ? 

The mother, when her only son has gone away to 

roam. 
Feels very anxious till she knows that he has found 

a home. 
And yet her anxious hopes and fears have not their 

mission done, 



OUR CHARLIE. 269 

Until assured her son has found a sweet and happy 

one, 
Nor then is free from anxious thought and many a 

fear and care, — 
She wants to know not only what that sweet home 

is, but where ; 
Then with the map upon her knee, the mother 

ceases not, 
Until she's searched it through and through and 

found the very spot. 
And then one less uncertainty being left her to 

annoy. 
She plants herself upon that spot and looks upon her 

boy; 
So, when our dear ones flee away and we, with tear 

ful eyes. 
Look up and try, alas ! to trace the travellers to the 

skies, 
We feel intensest thrills of joy, if, in the starry air. 
We can select some azure spot and feel that Heaven 

is there; 
Then 'twould be easier with that pomt in yonder 

blue arch given. 
Upon imagination's wings to speed our flight to 

Heaven. 

The glittering hosts that gem the sky beneath the 
swelling arch 



270 OUR CHARLIE. 

Are, day by day and night by night, forever on the 

march, 
And planets, stars, and satelKtes appear to shoot and 

fly ' 

Around one common central point, far distant in the 
sky; 

And though around each central sun, its own fair 
planets move. 

And satellites their planets gird, each in its destined 
groove, 

Yet every bright and central star, with all its glit- 
tering train. 

Is sailing round the centre of God's limitless do- 
main. 

And there, methinks, (it must be so,) amidst the 
starry skies. 

Right in the centre of it all, must be that Paradise. 

And there Omnipotence sits down upon His great 
WJiite Throne^ 

And holds each globe within its orb unaided and 
alone. 

And though in millions far too great for finite minds 
to read, 

And sailing some at snail-like pace and some at light- 
ning speed ; 

And though their orbs run every way, like huge 
eccentric things. 



OUR CHARLIE. 271 

As though all space were rudely piled and filled with 

golden rings, 
Yet though these orbits cross and twine in countless 

shapes and ways, 
And form to every eye, but God's, a giddy, tangled 

maze, — 
And though these heavenly travellers fly, within their 

several spheres. 
In rounds that take sometimes a month, sometimes 

ten thousand years, 
And comets, rocket-like, shoot out among those 

countless orbs. 
Without one jar, although their flight a thousand 

years absorbs, — 
Yet not one single satellite, one planet, or one star 
Has e'er received, since they began, one unintended 

jar, 
And beauty and sublimity, enchanting and divine, 
Start forth in all their loveliness, whene'er they sail 

or shine. 

I 

And thus God sits in majesty within that happy 

place. 
The centre of uncounted worlds that fill imbounded 

space ; 
And that unfading Paradise is, O ! how sweetly ! 

wove 



272 



OUR CHARLIE. 



Of eveiytliing in all these worlds the happy dwell- 
ers love, 

And whatsoe'er is beautiful and good and sweet and 
fair 

In all these worlds that sail around, its archetype isi 
there ; 

And when the good from all these spheres go up toj 
swell Heaven's host, 

They'll find the things they loved within their native! 
planets most. 

And there the Triune God sits do^vn, its centre and^ 

its soul. 
And sees each atom and each world throughout thej 

boundless whole. 
While round him in ecstatic groups the white-robe( 

spirits stand, 
His ransomed children, all safe home, within the; 

promised land. 



STUDIES OF HEAVEN. 



Come, mourner, come, and let us on Imagination's] 

wings 
Sail up, alighting midst this host, before the King of ; 

Kings ; 



I 



OUR CHARLIE. 273 



Where'er you look, above, below, or at each angle 

round, 
Majestic beauty, grandeur, grace, fill full the hallowed 

ground ; — 
See how the globes in graceful curves of faultless 

beauty move. 
Each rolling on in majesty in its aerial groove, 
In curves of every shape and size that Mathematics 
H sweeps. 

With speed as various in degree as wondrous Motion 

keeps. 
And yet, O ! how harmoniously they shoot and float 

and roll. 
Without a single jar or clash throughout the bound- 
less whole ! 
And how the gorgeous spectacle, evolving something 
P new. 

Brings out of this unbounded maze new mazes into 

view ! 
And change on change shall never cease all through 

the magic whole. 
While long eternity shall through its endless cycles 

roll. 
And never through eternal years just such a scene 

as this 
Shall meet the gaze of those that look from that sweet 

home of bliss. 
18 



274 OUR CHARLIE. 

For lo ! the scene is shifting yet, e'en while we stand 
and gaze, 

And now and now and now and now evolves a new- 
formed maze ; 

And now the great Artificer, perhaps, holds out His 
hand. 

And out of nothing forms a world of air and sea and 
land, 

And hurls it out among the rest without endanger- 
ing one. 

In gracefiil curve within the sphere of its predestined 
sun, — 

In just the right direction sent and right momentum 
given, 

To have it lodge within the path designed for it in 
Heaven, — 

And then, perhaj)s, a silver moon which, from his 
fingers hurled. 

Flies out and takes its destined path around its des- 
tined world, — 

Or golden ring that sails away exactly where 'tis 
sent, 

Till it begirts, like Saturn's ring, the world for which 
'twas meant ; 

And soon as these new bodies gain their stations in 
the sky. 

And in their new-born orbits have begun to sail and 



OUR CHARLIE. 275 

Tlie starry hosts all o'er His realms the song of wel- 
come sing, 

And all his children shout for joy till Heaven's old 
arches ring. 

And so the Godhead every day bids novel magic 
start, 

With some new thoughts to fill the mind, with some 
new thrills, the heart ; 

The groupings of created things, so changing to the 
view. 

Are constantly regrouping and producing something 
new. 

And new creations, every hour, meet their admiring 
gaze. 

Each, grand, and making still more grand the uni- 
versal maze ; 

And when our lost ones leave poor earth, on angel- 
wings they soar. 

And love-attracted gayly light on that enchanting 
shore ; 

There everything Jehovah does His happy children 
view. 

Both when he groups created things and when creat- 
ing new. 

He shows them how that wondrous power that New- 
ton sought and found 



2T6 OUR CHARLIE. 

Draws everything to everything the universe around ; 
He shows them each phenomenon in Nature's wide 

domain, 
That sages sought and toiled to find, but sought and 

toiled in vain ; 
And how the little tiny seed, dropped heedless in the 

earth, 
Is made to warm and swell and burst and gayly start 

to birth ; 
And how all over Nature's face, in garden, field, and 

grove. 
Each little fibrous thread is spun and into foliage 

wove ; 
And how each thing that vegetates, whate'er the 

species be. 
Has just the leaf, in form and size, of such a plant 

or tree ; 
And how each opening bud, when kissed by air and 

sun and dew. 
Expands, like its own kindred flower, in fragrance, 

shape, and hue ; 
And how the tints awaked to life that on the petals 

blush. 
Are always just the tints and hues belonging to that 

bush ; 
And how, although the queenly rose has countless 

tribes and castes, 



OUR CHARLIE. 277 

The normal idiosyncrasy through each gradation 

lasts ; 
And how each plant and tree and flower, when 

touched by human skill, 
Grows fairer, lovelier, sweeter far, and healthier for 

each thrill ; 
And how it is that every blow that well-aimed effort 

gives. 
In fairer forms and lovelier charms and sweeter 

fruitao[;e lives. 

He teaches all the lofty truths that learned chemists 
teach. 

And all those grander, loftier ones, that lie beyond 
their reach ; 

And what the powers in Nature's own great labor- 
atory lurk. 

And what the wonders they produce and hoAV the 
wonders work. 

He shows them all the higher truths the Mathe- 
matics solve. 

And those, to us, high mysteries that Numbers can 
evolve ; 

And how the Science, so sublime when only viewed 
as man's. 

Mounts up to those sublimer heights by which God 
acts and plans. 



278 OUR CHARLIE. 

He shows them those mysterious frames they used 

on earth to fill, 
And all that seems so marvellous in beauty, strength, 

and skill ; 
And how, although so curious made, a sluggish lump 

of clay 
The living spirit entered in, and set it into play; 
And how the heart, with giant power, sends Out the 

purple flood, 
To carry to each atom there its own appropriate 

food ; 
And how it is the unseen soul its own ideals sends, 
Until they come out real from the actor's finger- 
ends ; 
And how the soul's imaginings are vitalized and 

flung. 
In all their vast variety, from off the plastic tongue ; 
And how one soul its magic flings like odors from 

a flower. 
Until another spirit, thrilled, obeys the charmer's 

power. 

He tells them why He let the fiend within young 

Eden go. 
And sow within its viro;in bowers the seeds of sin 

and woe ; 



^ OUR CHARLIE. 2<9 

And why as long as earth shall roll He lets the seed 

be sown, 
So that not one forevermore should get to Heaven 

alone. 

He tells them why His love permits a vicious squalid 
home 

To curse earth's unborn innocents for centuries yet 
to come ; 

And why the father's eating grapes should, like a 
stubborn wedge. 

Pierce down through future years and set the chil- 
dren's teeth on edge; 

Why He permits the ignorant sire neglect the tender 
minds. 

And the poor children live and die, coarse and unlet- 
tered hinds ; 

And why the vicious home has power, with its pes- 
tiferous breath. 

To scatter 'mong the coming crowds disease and 
shame and death. 

He tells them how that sacred book, in which are 

kindly given 
The most we know of endless life and all we know 

of Heaven, — 
Whose spirit must inspire before a single human 

breast 



280 OUR CHARLIE. 

Can throb within that home of joy where all are 

good and blest, — 
Is yet a Book unknown to most, unless 'tis kindly 

brought 
By those who very seldom do one duty as they ought ; 
And why it takes, to publish it to earth's remotest 

coast. 
The sacrifice of self and gold, — two things we love 

the most. 

He shows them what the reason why the wealth and 

joys of earth 
Are scattered, it would almost seem, inversely as 

man's worth ; 
He shows them why earth's good and ill, like shower 

and sunshine fall. 
Without respect to character and equally on all ; 
And why the moral tares and wheat are left alike 

to grow. 
Although the yellow harvest be all dwarfed and 

blasted so ; 
And why He lets the monster death in freak and 

frenzy slay 
Whome'er he meets or wheresoe'er he meets them 

in the way ; 
And, like a maniac, fiercely hurl his poison-pointed 

lance, 



OUR C IT A B LIE. 281 

As if entirely purposeless or hurling it by chance ; 
And why, lest human science should succeed to 

thwart His skill, 
He has a thousand, thousand ways, his mission to 

fulfil ; 
And why, unlike the serpent, which alarms before it 

sj)rings. 
The monster oft gives no alarm until he plants his 

stings ; 
And like rude boys that club and stone the ripened 

fruits and green. 
He smites down infancy and age and at each hour 

between. 



^ He tells them why the world Hved on with but a 
P flickering flame. 



I 



For full four thousand years and more before Messias 

came ; 
He shows the leaden power of guilt upon the fallen 

race, 
And how it is the weight drops off, when touched by 

sovereign grace ; 
He shows how Love can bring pure gold from only 

worthless dross, 
And make clear sunshine chase away all mystery 

from the cross ; 
And this must be - methinks it must — the sweetest 

scene above, 



282 OUR CHARLIE. 

The centre of the beautiful, the centre of all love, 
Hound which the ransomed oftenest group, on which 

they oftenest gaze. 
And out of which draw deepest draughts of rapture 

and amaze. 

He tells them how the voice of prayer, when wafted 
up to Heaven, 

Brings down, to soothe the sorrowing heart, the 
welcome word " forgiven," — 

And prayer, around whose workings here such mid- 
night mysteries steal, 

Which human logic cannot solve but ransomed 
hearts can feel. 

Though hooted here by human wit, will prove the 
brightest gem 

Of all the bright and ghttering ones in love's grand 
diadem ; 

An angel brighter than the train that on their mis- 
sions wait. 

It takes the heart's petitions up and opes the pearly 
gate. 

There's mystery writ on all below, whate'er the 

object be, 
And there's no greater, mistier one in all the world 

than we ; 



OUR CHARLIE. 283 

'Tis stro^vii all o'er the outer world and m each sense 

that finds, 
And there's a mystery in the way it takes it into 

minds, 
And mystery in the processes by which we take the 
^ wdiole, 

■ And change it into nutnment to feed the deathless 

■ soul ; 

And mystery on mystery would all earth's joys 
derange, 
,., Were 't not that familiarity wears off whate'er is 
" strange. 

But up in yonder world of bliss, as in this world 

below. 
There are, and always will be, things the spirits do 

not know, 
But fast as they can master truth and go to some- 

I thing more. 

The Heavenly Teacher lifts the veil and helps the 
truth explore, — 
And long as God's eternal years shall through their 

cycles sail. 
Truth shall be ever throwing off her dark mysterious 

A^eil, 
And fast as spirits can move on in progress's swift 
career, 
|T The mists and clouds that veil the truth will melt 



284 OUR CHARLIE. 



Were I to paint a paradise in such a world as this, 

That would produce the sweetest kind and greatest 
sum of bliss, 

'Twould be where all that walk its bowers are pol- 
ished and refined. 

And there is one perpetual feast to feed the heart 
and mind; — 

Not one all smoking on the board, all ready and pre- 
pared. 

Without one effort of a guest by whom 'tis to be 
shared, 

But which the guest must dig and reap, and gather, 
cull, and glean. 

And after doing all the rest attend to the cuisine. 

Where'er we mingle with the race, we always find 

it true. 
That they are not the happiest ones who have the 

least to do ; 
And human progress does not move so merrily and 

fleet. 
Where man has little else to do except to pluck and 

eat. 

'Tis not beneath the warmest sun nor in the gayest 
zone. 



OUR CHARLIE. 285 

Where Nature has, with Hberal hand, her choicest 
blessings strown. 

Where with the least amount of work and least 
amount of care. 

The dwellers have enough to eat and all they want 
to wear, — 
,^ 'Tis not in such a sunny clime, in such a gorgeous 
P place. 

That we should seek and hope to find the noblest 
of the race. 

The chilly air and rocky shore and sterile vale and 
hill. 

Which Agricultui'e's hardy sons inspire, subdue, and 
till, — 

'Tis there the one who goes and seeks by far the 
oftenest finds 

The healthiest fi^-ames, the purest hearts, the loftiest, 
strongest minds. 

The normal state of haughty man, though at crea- 
tion's head. 

Is this, that every man below must work and earn 
his bread ; 

And not a man, from Adam down, whate'er his sta- 
tion be. 

Has broke the law and yet escaped the solemn pen- 
alty. 

The worker gets a feast fi'om both, the banquet and 
employ, 



286 OUR CHARLIE. 

The idler, too, may get his bread, but lose the extra 

joy; 

No matter what the man possess, a hovel or a 

throne, 
God's choicest blessings never fall upon an idle 

drone. 

O ! in that upper Paradise where Charlie's living 

now, 
With his sweet harp within his hand and crown upon 

his brow, 
I know there must be all they want for one per- 
petual feast, — 
Enough of what the loftiest want, enough of what 

the least; 
But yet I do not think the feast smokes on the table 

there, 
Without, upon the feaster's part, a single thought or 

care. 
I do not think that God permits a drivelling moral 

drone. 
To take a seat beside His board or bow before His 

throne, 
From that blest fund where all they need and all 

they wish is given, 
The spirits get a full supply to banquet on in 

Heaven ; 



OUR CHARLIE. 287 

But yet, to get the richest feast in those enchanting 

bowers 
Requires the constant exercise of all the spirit's 

powers. 

I love to think that my dear boy, at every step 

above, 
Finds some new truth to think about and some new 

thing to love, 
And, unlike China's Buddhist Priests, — who think 

the height of joy 
Is where there's not one Avave of thought nor ripple 

of employ, — 
My Charlie, in his home of bliss, at every step and 

turn. 
Finds some new beauty to admire and some new 

truth to learn. 
And that his little crystal mind, so active and so 

bright. 
Is ceaselessly expanding there and gathering skill and 

might ; 
And that kind heart, so sweet below, grows sweeter 

far above. 
Where everything it feeds upon is beauty, goodness, 

love ; 
And as he goes from truth to truth and lifts the 

sable pall, 



288 OUR CHARLIE. 

That mystery throws o'er virgm ore, he understands 

it all ; 
And from the crude materials in Beauty's circling 

arms, 
The sweet inventor hourly weaves fresh novelties 

and charms. 

Dear boy, while bee-hke flitting round in Heaven 

from gem to gem. 
He gets the sweetest nectar from the Rose of Beth- 
lehem ; 
He recollects the story well, without a comma's 

loss. 
About that wondrous, wondrous Babe that suffered 

on the cross ; 
He'd seen the little Jesus oft beneath St. Peter's 

dome. 
He'd seen Him in the Vatican and every church at 

Rome ; 
He'd seen him almost everywhere that He had been 

to search, — 
In almost every gallery, and palace, tower, and 

church ; 
And when returning home again, our merry little 

one 
Still saw that same mysterious Madonna and her 

son : 



OUR CHARLIE. 289 

And now the very central charm of that enchantmg 

scene 
Is that same Babe of Bethlehem, that humble Naz- 

arene. 
The Man of Sorrows^ who alone the dreadfnl wine- 
press trod, 
Is now the central point in Heaven, enthroned a 

very God ; 
And though His tender bosom here was wont to throb 

with joy. 
Whene'er he heard us tell the tale of Mary and her boy. 
Yet now that he beholds the child on glory's topmost 

height. 
His throbbing bosom overflows with wonder and 

delight ; 
But when he sees that Heaven itself, that pure and 

happy place. 
Has not a charm, but lo ! it is the radiance from His 

face. 
And as, if yonder glorious sun were blotted from its 

sphere, 
'T would blot out every pleasant thing of love and 

beauty here. 
So should that Blest One veil His face or from the 

scene remove. 
There would be nothing left to charm and nothing 

left to love ; 

19 



290 OUR CHARLIE. 

And thus from Charlie's mild blue eyes the tears of 

rapture run, 
That he can rove that glorious place with Mary's 

spotless son. 

And so upon the wings of thought we daily mount 
and fly, 

And view the scenes of Paradise with Faith's de- 
lighted eye ; 

And if we find a ray of light from some undoubted 
source. 

That might direct the mind aright in its aerial 
course. 

We take it with a grateftJ heart, all brimming o'er 
with joy. 

And fly on buoyant wings aloft to find our sainted 
boy. 

God has some shining rays of truth about Heaven's 

glories given, 
And out of these we try to weave our little Charlie's 

Heaven ; 
And as his pure and tender heart is graven on our 

mind. 
And every pleasant angel-trait is in our memories 

shrined, 
"We have materials all supplied to paint his home of 

joy. * 



OUR CHARLIE. 291 

And midst its groves and in its bowers, our little 

cherub boy ; 
And often as we think and gaze in meditative 

mood, 
It never seems to do us harm, — it always does us 

good. 



IS IT A BLESSING TO HAVE HAD SUCH A BOY AND 
THEN LOST HIM? 

When the pure love-flake fell from Heaven, what 
rapture filled the heart ! 

When it dissolved and rose again, how very keen the 
smart ! 

That smart is rankling in our hearts with all its 
■ anguish still. 

And has the rapture in our breasts forever ceased to 
thrill? 

We never shall forget the pangs while we remember 
aught. 

And shall the rapture at the gift be evermore for- 
got? 

O ! no, the rapture that he gave, and still his mem- 
ory gives. 

Will live and thrill our hearts as long as he that 
woke it lives. 



292 OUR CHARLIE. 

But the keen anguish from the blow that rent the 

ties in twain 
Will only throb a few short years till we shall meet 

again ; 
And thus the bliss excels the woe from Charlie's 

birth and death, 
As much as long eternity exceeds a fleeting breath. 



THE BLESSING. 

The gentle dews of eventide that sail so soft below, 

That light on every living thing and set it all aglow. 

That string with pearls the blades of grass and set 
the leaves with gems, 

And crown the velvet shrubs and trees with spar- 
kling diadems ; 

And when the morning sun comes up and Nature 
looks as fair 

As if an angel had been down and scattered jewels 
there. 

The glittering dew-drops, solar-kissed, on new-born 
pinions rise. 

And while we're gazing, disappear and seek their 
native skies ; 

The day-god kissed, and up they rose on tender new- 
born wing. 



OUR CHARLIE. 293 

But did not bear tlie blessing off that they liad come 

to bring, — 
The velvet verdure, dew-kissed, has a greener man- 
tle o'er, 
And every floweret wears a smile diviner than 

before ; 
And could that landscape tell its thanks, 'twould all 

the summer through 
Keep singing every day and night how much it owes 

the dew ; 
So, like a genial drop of dew sent sweetly from 

above. 
Our Charlie came, a precious gem, to fill our hearts 

with love, — 
So sweet, the love-beams from his face made happi- 
ness more bright. 
And fringed each cloud of sorrow with a more than 

golden light ; 
And most our hearts were thrilled by his, so pure 

and so refined. 
And our minds brightened daily with the brightness 

of his mind, — 
And as the florist grows more pure by talking with 

the flowers. 
So from sweet converse, day by day, his spirit 

sweetened ours. 



I 



294 OUR CHARLIE. 

But God looked down, — we thought He frowned, 

but now we know he smiled, — 
And sent some little cherubs down to bear aloft our 

child ; 
And, like a crystal drop of dew, kissed by the morn- 
ing sun, 
Unseen by all but angel-eyes, sailed up our darling 

one ; 
And so the love-beams from his face have vanished 

quite away. 
But not a single little thrill he ever set in play ; 
And home, e'en now, though full of tears, has many 

a gem of joy. 
The fruits of those few fleeting years so hallowed by 

our boy ; 
And although frailties, errors, stains, will with our 

pleasures come. 
Among the dear and pleasant things that cluster in 

our home, — 
Yet if a heavenly visitant should in our home ap- 
pear. 
Me thinks he'd say, from what he saw, " An angel has 

been here." 
Our very beings and our boy's have so together 

grown. 
He'd find, perhaps, some traits of his transplanted 

to our own ; 



OUR CHARLIE. 295 

And as the air all odorless breathes through earth's 
I lovely bowers, 

I And then comes out and passes on all redolent of 
flowers, — 
So would he find that our sweet home wears a more 

charming air. 
Because our little sainted boy left so much sweet- 
ness there : 
He'd see in oil and photograph, in many a hallowed 
place, 
^ The picture of a little boy with just the sweetest 
ip face ; 

And though its archetype not here in our domestic 
bowers, 
.^ He'd, by its very features, know the little one was 
P ours. 

He looks within our heart of hearts and on his little 

throne. 
Sees, midst the life-throbs fluttering there, our sainted 

little one ; 
And many a little pleasant thing that visitant would 

trace 
Back to that charming little boy that wore that 

pleasant face. 
O ! yes, as long as we shall live, 'twill be a source 

of joy, 
That God, though for so short a time, gave us so 
sweet a boy; 



296 OUR CHARLIE. 

And if we ever reach the skies with all our sins 

forgiven, 
And look to see what angel 'twas attracted us to 

Heaven, 
'Twill be the one who came to earth and won us bj 

His love. 
And then flew up attracting us to follow him above. 



FRUITS OF AFFLICTION. 

Hov^ sweet the fruits of grief can be within the 

humble breast. 
How Sorrow can, if used aright, make its recipient 

blest ! 
Affliction's rude, untender hand, if we but kiss the 

rod. 
Grows velvet, as we grasp it tight, and leads us up 

to God ; 
But e'en the softest hand she has grows calloused to 

the one 
Who will not say or try to say, " Thy will, O God, ■ 

be done." 
God's yoke is easy to the neck, and burden — it is 

light 
To those who freely take them up and wear and bear 

them right. 



i 



OUR CHARLIE. 297 



While those who will not take the yoke, nor yet the 

burden bear, 
Will have more crushing; loads to take and gallino; 

chains to wear; 
For oftener upon sorrow's wings than gladness' wings 

we fly. 
And light among the ransomed ones above the starry 

sky. 
Prosperity, Calypso-like, with all its merry cheer. 
Oft captivates the noblest minds and firmly chains 

them here ; 
Affliction smites, and then we learn how impotent is 
P earth. 

And then we feel that we must seek for things of 

nobler worth ; 
And then we find how wise He was, more plainly 

every day, 
Both when He gave the little gem and took the gem 

away, — 
The giving and the taking both are tokens of His 

love. 
To show how charming, even here, the spirits are 

above ; 
And if so happy even here 'twas almost death to 

part. 
What bliss 'twill be in Heaven to live, united heart 

to heart. 



298 OUR CHARLIE. 



DO SPIRITS VISIT US HERE? 

Is it a myth of some wild bard that unseen spirits 

walk 
Among old scenes, and with old friends in sweet 

communion talk ? 
And though we know not, while immersed in trials, 

toils, and cares. 
Our wearied spirits oftentimes are soothed and calmed 

by theirs ; 
And when, 'midst doubts and fears, alas ! through 

devious ways we grope. 
They come unseen, but not unfelt, and whisper joy 

and hope. 

Time was, so says the Book of God, when spirits 

did appear. 
And held communion with their friends who still 

were lino-erino; here : 
And that the spirits come to earth and mix with 

mortal men 
Is not a whit more difficult in modern times than 

then. 
When throucrh the senses that we use for all life's 

work below, 
A record's made on memory's scroll, it ne'er will let 

it go,— 



A OUR CHARLIE. 299 

And when life's fitful dream is o'er, and we depart 
^ at last, 

m 'Twill still, in every tracery, bear the record of the 
■ past. 

Each sense will die, whene'er the work of this fleet 
life is through, 
- For in the life beyond the tomb there's nought for 
P it to do ; 

For every power of all the powers that go to make 

a soul 
Will be as fresh and bright as now, while endless 

ages roll, — 
Nay, more than that, more fresh and bright, more 

(vigorous and devout. 
At every forward step it takes or problem it works 
out. 

God makes us social beings here with interests inter- 
wove, — 

I do not think 'twill be so here and not be so 
above ; 

This world would be a dreary place, if insulated 
each. 

And no electric spark of love from heart to heart 
could reach. 

And Heaven would be no Paradise and Paradise no 
Heaven, 

Were that electric current which unites the spirits 
riven ; 



800 OUR CHARLIE. 

Communings here from soul to soul are made to ebb 

and flow 
Through those mysterious unseen ducts called senses 

here below, — 
These, like the ducts of proud old Rome, all wrecked 

and ruined, spread 
O'er earth's campagna where repose her silent moul- 
dering dead ; 
But when a spirit freed from earth a sister spirit 

meets. 
And holds sweet converse as they walk along the 

golden streets. 
They need no sense to go between to bring and 

carry thought, 
For truth is automatic where rude matter holds it 

not. 
The spirit here, within its clay, gets snugly out of 

view. 
And through the senses, sends abroad the false as 

well as true, — 
But there, transparent as the air, if falsehood brings 

a mote. 
The dullest soul in Paradise can plainly see it float, 
And, therefore, 'tis a metaphor we utter when we 

say. 
That beings with each other talk within the realms 

of day : 



OUR CHARLIE. 301 

Wk The spirits up in Paradise are what they seem 
to be, 

For character, and nothing else, those blessed beings 
see. 

If spirits have to tell their thoughts or others know 
them not. 

Then there, as here, there's such a thing as coun- 
terfeiting thought; 

And so among those happy ones that through those 
mansions flit, 

There may be those, as here below, who play the 
hypocrite. 

If spirits are above the sky transparent as the light, 
And every moral lineament is all portrayed to sight, 
Will it not follow that among the good and great 

and blest, 
Whate'er one knows is known and seen and felt by 

all the rest ? 

Go to that wondrous thing of Art by Raphael's pen- 
cil traced, 

The brightest, sweetest, richest gem of all earth's 
works of taste ; 

The slightest glance reveals the fact that 'tis a gem 
of Art, 

That, once imprinted, always charms and captivates 
the heart; 



302 OUR CHARLIE. 

But he tliat drinks in all its charms must come and 

come and come, 
And new discoveries every day are added to the 

sum ; 
And though each charm was e'en at first as open to 

the view, 
We had to gaze, how oft! and long before we saw 

it through. 

In Heaven, no less than on the earth, there must be 

different grades. 
And acquisitions even there of different hues and 

shades ; 
For though transparent as the air, e'en to its finest 

thread, 
They cannot learn the lesson there unless the les- 
son's read, — 
Like the chef d'oeuvre of Raphael's brush, or like a 

learned book, 
They can't be mastered by a glance or by a hasty 

look. 
One hour of social converse with the spirit of Saint 

Paul 
Would show a thousand, thousand charms, it would 

not show them all ; 
And though transparent as the light and open to the 

view. 



OUR CHARLIE. 303 

It might consume a thousand years to read its beau- 

■ O ! when our Httle cherub rose and soared to fields 
H above, 

I know he must have looked for John and talked 
V with him of love; 

K And save with Him whom all adore, admire, and love 
P the best, 

He talks with John and those like John, far oftener 

than the rest. 
But tell me, does our Charlie not sometimes come 

down below. 
And walk with us and talk with us who used to love 

him so ? 
Our thoughts go daily up to him while roving midst 

Heaven's bowers. 
And does he never come t(5 us and rove with us in 

ours ? 
Our spirits daily mount to him within his happy 

sphere. 
And does his spirit ne'er come down and calmly join 

us here ? 
Who doubts the pure ones think of us ? and what is 

thinking there 
But going out and visiting the objects of their 
care ? 



304 OUR CHARLIE. 



1 



God fills all space and, therefore, nought where'er the 

objects lie 
Can ever be beyond the reach of His all-seeing eye. 
But disembodied spirits, like embodied ones below, 
Must list, to hear, must look, to see, and learn a 

thing, to know; 
And everything on memory's map inwoven and in- 

Avrought, 
Whene'er they wish, they go to see upon the wings 

of thought ; 
The laws of mind are always like, whate'er the 

actor be, 
Both when encumbered with the flesh and when 

entirely free. 

When thoughts like these come o'er our minds, we 

feel it must be sfe, 
And Charlie does come home to see the ones he 

loved below ; 
We think that Reason is not shamed, nor Common 

Sense abused, 
To say that spirits walk the earth exactly as they 

used. 
Nor do I think that 'tis a weak and superstitious 

thought, 
By dreamy musing conjured up or silly fancy 

wrought, 



I 



I 



OUR CHARLIE. 305 

That, sometimes, in our tears we've felt an inner 

peace and joy. 
That must have been the heavenly fruit of converse 

with our boy. 



ALL MYSTERIES EXPLAINED IN HEAVEN. 

I LOVE to think that when I to my Father's house 

return. 
There'll be so many glorious truths that I shall have 

to learn ; 
There'll be so many mysteries unfathomed here below. 
That I shall have to fathom there and study till I 

know ; 
And things that here seemed strange or wrong, 

within Heaven's clearer light. 
Prove pure and faultless harmonies and all exactly 

right ; 
And that the ills that checker life and shorten and 

annoy. 
Were but the seeds, the germs, the buds of Heaven's 

unending joy. 
And that had one been blotted out or one had never 

been. 
Life would have been a meaningless and inharmonious 
scene. 

20 



306 OUR CHARLIE. 

I love to think that every jar upon my heart-strings 

here, 
That caused my breast to heave a sigh or eye to drop 

a tear, 
Is but the tuning of those strings, so dissonant and 

wrong, 
Tliat I might be prepared to sing Heaven's high and 

holy song. 

I love to think, in yonder world, one element of 

bliss 
Will be to fathom and unfold the mysteries seen in 

this ; 
And everything that pains us here and everything 

that grieves. 
And every blight and mildew dropped on hope's ex- 
panding leaves. 
And every hoary frost that came to our domestic 

bowers. 
That nipped the buds or killed the leaves or scathed 

the merry flowers. 
Will prove to be the richest gifts our Father could 

have given. 
The seedlings of the sweetest charms attracting us to 

Heaven ; 
And all the good and ill of life, its pleasures and its 

pains. 



r 



OUR CHARLIE. 307 



Its smiles and tears, its hopes and fears, its losses 

and its gains, 
That seemed so chance-directed here or meaningless 

or wrong. 
Were but the prelude to prepare for joy's immortal 

song. 

I love to think, when I sit down, if I shall sit 

above, 
The good and ill of life will seem alike the gems of 

love j 
And I shall see exactly why, to draw my heart to 

joy, 

My Father had to snatch from me my darling little 
boy. 

I love to think the time will come when I shall see 

and know. 
That it was best, and why 'twas best, that mysteries 

reigned below ; 
And that within the field of truth, spread out on 

every hand. 
So much we saw or could not see or could not 

understand ; 
And it may be that it will prove (the strangest thing 

of all) 
That, though with minds of so much power, our 

conquests were so small. 



308 OUR CHARLIE. 

I love to think tliat I shall know how God, with err- 
less skill, 
Could harmony from discord bring and happiness from 

ill, 

And make the very wTath of man, howe'er demoniac 

even, 
Work out the kind designs of love in gathering souls 

to Heaven. 

I love to think that I may find our finiteness in 

this 
May work out joy, intenser joy, within the world of 

bliss ; 
The sweetest thrills of heavenly joy in bosoms up 

above 
Must be the thrill that flutters from the living pulse 

of love ; 
And fihal love is ne'er so great and ne'er so pure 

and sweet. 
As when the child sits learning at the teaching 

father's feet. 
Could we the mysteries all explain and facts and 

truths discern. 
And all we've ever got to learn by thought and 

study learn, 
Methinks, 'twould wipe out faith entire, — the sweet- 
est viand given 



OUR CHARLIE. 309 

To feed the deathless soul below and make it pant for 

Heaven. 
But whatsoe'er the reason be, though veiled from 

human sight, 
Faith, that celestial beam from Heaven, shows 'tis 

entirely right ; 
And sweet the thought, when we get home to man- 
sions in the sky, 
We shall sit down among the blest and learn the 

reason why. 
And every sorrow that we shared, and anguish that 

we felt. 
Will into tokens of His love and boundless kindness 

melt. 

O ! yes, though mysteries throng my way and truths 

conceal their mien. 
And pain and sorrow make poor earth a sad and 

dreary scene. 
So much intenser, purer joy will thrill my ransomed 

breast, ^ 

When I shall see both that it was and how it was 

the best. 

O ! let me then, whate'er betide, without a doubt or 
fear. 

Believe our Heavenly Father guides our tottering- 
footsteps here. 



310 OUR CHARLIE. 

And that the humblest, trusting one, is surest to be 
right, 

"Who walks among earth's dreariest scenes by faith 
and not by sight, — 

Then, though our dear ones — dearest ones — are from 
our bosoms riven. 

And our young prattling innocents are summoned 
home to Heaven, 

I'll try to feel until the time when I shall see and 
know^ 

That it was love and only love that dealt the stun- 
ning blow. 



STAY IN LONDON. 

'TwAS when we had our hasty home in that gigantic 

town, 
All gray with age and bright with youth, the pride 

of England's crown. 
Where Virtue stands where'er you go with blessings 

in her arms. 
And Vice, beside her, wooes her dupes with more 

than rival charms, — 
Where wealth goes staggering 'neath the weight of 

its own money-bags. 
And want, gaunt starveling, begs its crusts in scant 



and fluttering rags, — 



OUR CHARLIE. 311 

I And all extremes of good and bad within old London 

dwell, 
That make her seem sometimes a Heaven and seem 

sometimes a Hell ; 
]^ And there we lived and passed the hours, midst 

beauties ever new. 
We wandered all her galleries and gardens through 

and through. 
We went to see her palaces and mounted her old 

towers, 
And travelled through her lovely parks and walked 

among her flowers ; 
We went to Kew and Sydenham, that brightest 

earthly gem, 
Excepting Chatsworth that adorns old England's 

diadem ; 
We went to her old abbey where uncounted travel- 
lers tread 
The marble aisles among the graves of England's 

honored dead; 
We went to that enchanting pile beneath whose 

graceful wings 
Her Lords and Commons congregate as well as 

Queens and Kings, — 
And all these things on memory's leaf are written out 

so plain. 
The picture never can grow dim or e'er go out 

again, 



812 OUR CHARLIE. 

But midst these charming retrospects, so full of 

genuine joy, 
The image always seems to stand of our enchanting 

boy; 
We hear his little pattering feet along the marble 

floor. 
We see him gayly darting round through every 

opening door, — 
We hear him calling Helen, as he saw some work of 

art, 
Which* chanced to catch his little eye and thrill his 

little heart ; 
For feasting was no feast to him, however well sup- 
plied. 
If Helen did not share it too, delighted at his side ; 
No matter what, no matter how, no matter when or 

where 
Our retrospects, the little form of our dear boy is 

there. 

We go in memory back again to Madam Tussaud's 

court, 
Where London tourists always go for pastime or for 

sport. 
And little Charlie's always there, as merry and as 

gay 
As when he asked a figure there to tell the time of 

day,— 



I 






I OUR CHARLIE. 313 

And when tlie figure did not speak, he, with a Kttle 

pause. 
Came up and told us what a boor the stupid fellow 

was ; 
" I asked the man what time it was, and though I 

know he heard, 
He did not even notice me nor say a single word." 

We go in memory back again, and gayly rove 

around 
In Kensington, that beautiful and almost fairy ground. 
Around the lawn and through the grove and round 

the silver lake. 
All swarming with aquatic birds of every form and 

make ; 
But Charlie always seems to rove amidst the magic 
b scene. 

With merry face and laughing eye and manly form 

and mien. 
And calling Helen, Helen, in his sweetest, manliest 

tone. 
Whene'er he found a pretty thing he would not have 

alone. 
There he and Helen and the nm'se — I see them 

plain as day — 
Went out and spent the pleasant hours in merry sport 

and play ; 
P 



314 OUR CHARLIE. 

I see them with the drinking cup to dip from yonder 

spring, 
And basket with a liberal lunch of some delicious 

thing. 
Anon, I see him standing there with something in 

his hand. 
Among the noisy feathery tribes as thick as they 

could stand, — 
When suddenly a hungry duck to little Charlie run. 
And seized from out his little hand, his but half-eaten 

bun. 
And off he waddled toward the lake with Charlie in 

his track. 
And gliding in the water, gave a self-complacent 

" quack ; " 
Then Charlie cried and then he laughed to see the 

creature run, 
And sail away so far from land to eat his stolen 

bun. 

It is a vision of the fact just as the fact occurred. 

When Charlie's bun within his hand was stolen by 
a bird, — 

And ever after while he lived and spoke of Kensing- 
ton, 

He used to tell about the duck that came and stole 
his bun. 



OUR CHARLIE. 315 

One day, while seated by a boy, — an English boy, — 
to look 

And see the pictures in a little English picture-book. 

From page to page they looked to see the reptiles, 
I beasts, and birds. 

And called them all exactly like, the designating 
words : 

The Robin and Canary-Bird, the Serpent and the 
I Fox, 

1 The Fish, the Lamb, the Cow, the Goat, the Buf- 
falo and Ox ; 

And Charlie and his little friend pronounced them all 
the same. 

Until they turned another leaf and to the Monkey 
came ; 

" Why that's ' a hape ' upon this leaf," said little 
Johnny Bull, 

But Charlie almost split his sides with laughter brim- 
ming full. 

And looking toward his English friend, he, in a merry 
k tone. 

Cried out, '' Pray tell me what's ' a hape,' I never 
heard of one." 

And ever after, when he saw a monkey or an ape. 

He, with a merry smile, would say, " See, Helen, 
there's ' a hape.' " 



816 OUR CHARLIE. 



PARIS. 

Enchanting Paris, where's the man that ever saw 

thy charms, 
Whose Memory did not always clasp the vision in its 

arms. 
And he who visits Europe's shores will always take 

good care 
To visit Paris oftenest and stay the longest there. 
Our home on rue de Rivoli was where we used to see 
Those gayest grounds this side the skies, the gay 

Tuileries ; 
And when the children wished to go within the 

grounds to play, 
'Twas nothing that they had to do but go across the 

way; 
And, therefore, hours and hours they'd play, those 

happy little ones, 
Among the Gallic girls and boys and white-capped 

Gallic bonnes ; 
And there they used to study French among the 

merry throngs, 
Until they talked as well as they and sung their little 

songs ; 
And now when all these scenes come up on Mem- i 

ory's pages traced. 



OUR CHARLIE, 317 

Our Charlie is the central charm upon the canvas 

placed ; 
The gay policeman knew him well when coming 

near his beat, 
And used to call him "Petit Sharl," whene'er they 

chanced to meet ; 
And on that same policeman's face you'd see a 

smile of joy, 
Whene'er he saw him cross the street, — that little 
■ Yankee boy ; 

And they would talk, and " Petit Sharl " declare it 

was his plan 
To be a bold policeman too, when he should be a 

man. 
But midst all these — these splendid scenes of ele- 
gance and joy — 
Om^ little Charlie ne'er forgot he was a Yankee boy, 
And at their fetes and gay parades in streets or 

Champs de Mars, 
^ You'd see him marching 'neath our flag, the glorious 
P stripes and stars ; 

And 'twas amusing very oft to see him marching there. 
Beneath his country's banner with a martial step and 

air ; 
And when the Imperial Cortege rushed through 
P rue de Rivoli, 

The little Yankee boy was there, among the rest, to 

see : 



318 OUR CHARLIE. 

And when the Empress rode away, with splendid 

coach and four, 
Along that street as smoothly wrought as any palace 

floor, 
With Helen at his side, he'd stand with an uncov- 
ered brow. 
Where he was sure to catch her eye and sure to get | 

a bow ; 
For, unlike England's Royal Queen, she deigns to cast 

her eye. 
And bow to those who show respect when she is 

passing by ; 
And when the Prince Imperial dashed along the 

crowded way. 
With cavalcade caparisoned in splendidest array. 
Our Charlie dearly loved to see the little fellow 

ride, 
With all those splendid mounted men escorting at his 

side ; 
For envy never touched his heart with e'en its 

faintest tints — 
'T would be as if a sovereign should be envious of a 

prince. 

How can, think you, these pleasant scenes in faith- 
ful memory start. 

And Charlie not relive again within a parent's 
heart ? 



OUR CHARLIE. 819 



! when I'd seen the gray old world of which I'd 

read and dreamed, 
And memory had daguerreotypes of how its wonders 
seemed, 

1 felt that I'd a double world instead of only this, 
From which to draw the viands for my feast of 

earthly bliss ; 
But since our Charlie left our arms and we were 

whelmed in grief. 
And he and Europe, side by side, are found on 

memory's leaf, 
The retrospects of foreign lands and foreign travel wear 
A hallowed charm, a chastened hue, because our boy 

is there ; 
And 'tis for this we fondly hope that travel with its 

lore 
May now appear a holier thing than it appeared 

before. 



THE VOYAGE. 

'TwAS eighteen hundred fifty-eight, July the seventh, 
at four, 

With luggage placed on board the boat, we left Man- 
hattan's shore ; 



B20 OUR CHARLIE. 

The little steamer took us on from Jersey's crowded 

slip, 
With many a friend who wished to see ns safe on 

board the ship, 
And wafted off our little group as gayly as a dream. 
To where the Persia, gallant ship, was riding in the 

stream ; 
And hands were grasped and kisses given by fond 

Affection's lips. 
And warm adieus from friend to friend exchanged 

between the ships ; 
And when the little steamer turned and darted 

toward the shore, 
White handkerchiefs were waved from both till we 

could see no more. 

Good-by, good-by, dear friends, good-by; dear native 

land, adieu, 
O ! shall we e'er alive and well come back again to 

you? 

'Twas thus we thought, perhaps, we said, as we pre- 
pared to go. 

And gather in our little flock within our home 
below ; 

And ere we'd oped our drawing-room and gathered by 
ourselves, 



OUR CHARLIE. 321 



■ And placed the children in their berths, (the children 
called them shelves,) 
Old night had gathered round the ship and hemmed 

the prospect so, 
We saw but moon and stars above and ship and sea 

below ; 
And then commending all to God upon the bended 

knee. 
We spent the night in gentle sleep, the first we spent 
at sea. • 

_ And day and night for days and days, without a mo- 
P ment's rest. 

The gallant Persia ploughed the way upon the ocean's 
crest, 
.. Without a storm or boisterous wind, a single hour or 
I day. 

Until within the Mersey moored, the ship at anchor 
lay. 

Who does not know how anxiously when people are 
at sea. 

They make the most of incidents to break monotony, 

And how invention does her best to call up some- 
thing new. 

To see or hear or meditate or think about or do ; 

And such were all, or almost all, occurring day by 
day, 

21 



822 OUR CHARLIE. 

That caused a ripple o'er the face of dull ennui to 

play: 
An iceberg of enormous size one evening hove in 

sight, 
And some few whales came up to spout far distant to 

the right, , 
And one poor fellow, on the way to his affianced 

bride. 
Deceased and then was solemnly committed to the 

tide, — ^ 
And, saving these few incidents, the actors in the 

play 
All improvised the incidents they had to cheer the 

way. 
But what with incidents we made and those we found 

supplied. 
And voyage made so very brief by prosperous wind 

and tide. 
It was a very pleasant trip, which, till life's sun shall 

set. 
We shall delight to think about and never can 

forget ; 
But ah ! to me there's something more than what 

these scenes impart. 
That memory gathers from it all and shrines within 

my heart. 



OUR CHARLIE. 323 

A little boy in sailor's dress and scarcely three years 

old, 
Whose thick red flannel coat and pants kept out the 

piercing cold, — 
For e'en July upon the land may very scorching be, 
And still be cold as Greenland where we're far away 

ar sea ^ 
But cold, the bitterest sort, that comes from biting 

frosts and snows. 
Could scarcely get a nip at him within those flannel 

clothes ; 
And while the other boys and girls, and men and 

women too, 
Were shivering with the bitter cold and almost frozen 

through. 
He, merry as the merriest lark that ever chirped a 

lay. 
Was never cold, but warm enough, through all the 

livelong day ; 
And so well known and loved by all was that mild, 

merry child. 
He carried pleasure where he went and sunshine 

where he smiled ; 
And ere he'd been a week at sea, so well he played 

his part. 
He'd gained respect of all on board and every sailor's 

heart ; 



k 



324 OUR CHARLIE. 

So that when disembarking from this gallantest of 

ships, 
A " Good-by, CharHe," gayly leaped from every 

sailor's lips. 

Now always as these pleasant scenes before my vision 
lie, 

All heard again by memory's ear and seen by mem- M 
ory's eye, ■ 

I see within the tissued scenes before my eyes un- 
rolled, 

Whate'er supplied the silver threads, 'twas Charlie 
formed the gold. 



THE KETURN. 

Two years had passed and we'd each day been seeing 

something new. 
And home, sweet home, with all its charms, came up 

to memory's view ; 
That gallant ship, the Arago, and gallant Captain 

Lynes,^ 
Were soon to come and bear us where the sun of 

freedom shines. 

1 Captain Lynes perished by falling from the banks at Niagara in the 
summer of 1862. 



OUR CHARLIE. 325 



Ah ! "gallant Captain, — so alike the kindly friend to 

all, 
Not cringing to the rich and great and crabbed to 

the small ; 
Whoever ever sailed with thee but when he had to 

part, 
He bore away, where'er he went, thine image in his 

heart ? 
Old Ocean might not spread thy couch beneath his 

yesty waves. 
But old Niagara gave thee one of his sublimest 

graves. 

Farewell, Old Man, thou'lt live and hve on yonder 

fadeless shore. 
When dread Niagara, with his waves, shall cease to 

rage and roar, 
And all that ever sailed with thee across old Ocean's 

main 
Will love to meet and talk with thee and roA e with 

thee again. 

The Arago, that gallant ship, the English channel 

ploughs. 
She's shot from Havre on her way and stops for us 

at Cowes, 



326 OUR CHARLIE. 

And all on board the little boat, we, from Southamp- 
ton glide, 

And soon are near the Arago and lying at her side. 

The portal opes, the steps let down, and, joyous and 
elate. 

We gayly leave the little ship and get on board the 



For home, — for home, — how sweet the thought, for 

those who've been to roam. 
That they're at last on board the ship that's soon to 

bear them home ; 
And if the steamer stems the tide as she has done 

before. 
They soon shall be safe home again upon their native 

shore. 

But one day out and boisterous gales began, in furious 

spite, 
To roar and rave and lash the sea unceasing day and 

night ; 
The seething ocean boiled and heaved, and, like a 

dancing cork. 
The staggering steamer pitched and rolled until we 

hailed New York ; 
And scarce one day and scarce one hour and scarce 

one minute e'en, 

I 



OUR CHARLIE. 327 

The battlincr wind-o-od ceased to add new terrors to 

the scene. 
Through Switzerlands on Switzerlands, midst moun- 

tains capped with snow, 
And through impervious passes oft the steamer 

seemed to go ; 
And how that steamer passed those gulfs and moun- 
tains capped with snows, 
And shot among those jutting rocks, alas ! God only 

knows ; 
But she did stem the mountain waves, and yawning 

chasms spanned. 
Until, all safe, we'd set our feet upon our native 

land ; 
And not one friend who'd said adieu, when we went 

off to roam. 
But still was there alive and well to bid us welcome 

home. 

These scenes still live as fresh as when we saw and 

heard and felt. 
And never can the vision fade or in oblivion melt ; 
And never shall we cease to see until life's curtain 

fall, 
The little one who hallowed it and sanctified it all, 
And spun the little golden threads that bound it to 

the heart. 



328 OUR CHARLIE. 

Too sweet and strong to burden or be ever rent 

apart ; 
For all throughout those weary weeks within that 

rocking ship, 
And through that lagging, weary, long, disgusting, 

filthy trip, — 
When all declared, 'pon honor, if they ever got 

ashore. 
They'd never leave their homes again to tempt old 

Ocean more, — 
Our little Charlie, midst the gloom, was like a ray 

of light, 
He gayly sported through the day and sweetly slept 

at night ; 
And every staggering sea-sick soul, whom nothing 

else could cheer. 
Imbibed a sunbeam of delight whenever he was 

near. 

Dear little bud of innocence, too sweet and pure to 

bloom. 
And waste thy fragrance in the fields this side the 

silent tomb, 
Why shouldst thou not have been so gay, so uiicon- 

cerned and free. 
When guilt had never dropped a stain or spoke a 

word to thee ? 



OUR CHARLIE. 329 

Yes, blessed boy, we'll ne'er forget, until our dying 

day. 
Whose little face amidst that scene could chase the 

gloom away. 



DOUBTS. 

When Love and Friendship find the ties of Love 
I and Friendship riven. 

We try to think, and we may think, our dear ones 
are in Heaven, 

But doubts, like motes in Faith's clear eye, obscure 
its upward stare, 

Until, at last, it cannot see the loved and lost are 
tliere ; 

And then we cry, O ! can it be, that our lost friends 
to-day 

Are not among God's conscious ones, but dead, un- 
conscious clay? 

And then the clouds begin to flit o'er Faith's un- 
clouded sky. 

And every star is wrapped in gloom to her bewildered 
eye; 

And then the picture grows so dim and almost fades 
from view, — 

The future meeting with our friends that chastened 
fancy drew ; 



330 OUR CHARLIE. 

And then we try to wipe the mote from Faith's 

bewildered eye, 
That she may see with clearer gaze the vision in the 

sky; 
And then we go with chastened heart to Heaven's 

mierring tome, 
For light that shows as plain as day that there's a 

life to come ; 
And although He who cannot lie has made the trath 

so plain, 
That, though man dies and turns to dust, yet he shall 

live again, 
A fear will sometimes mar our joy, a doubt will 

shake our faith. 
And human nature weak and frail hope's brightest 

visions scathe ; 
And then we fly to any source that added light will 

give, 
To make more sure the glorious truth that our 

departed dive. 
We catch at that important fact that where soe'er we 

roam. 
We find the faith, however gained, that there's a life 

to come ; 
And surely God would ne'er have given, His whole 

creation through, 
A faith or instinct in the mind to prove at last 

untrue, — 



OUR CHARLIE. 331 

That points us to a glorious world surpassing bright 

and fair, 
To prove a mirage to our faith on our arrival there. 

And then we to our altar go and leave our offering 

there, 
And try to mount to God's abode upon the wings of 

prayer ; 
And never do we go in vain, — we ask and we 

receive, 
The light comes down and then. O! then, 'tis easy 

to believe. 

And then we sit and meditate and bring the prod- 
ucts home, 
And group them till the picture is a very life to 

come ; 
Our loved and lost, alive and well, and happier than 

before. 
Are loving, roving, triumphing, where they will die 

no more ; 
And then we sigh, if spirits e'er from Paradise may 

roam. 
And visit this poor earth again they used to call 

" sweet home," 
O ! that the dear ones would come down and for a 

moment rest. 



\ 



832 OUR CHARLIE. 

And plant pure thoughts and pleasant hopes withm 

the throbbing breast ! 
And then we feel an mward peace, a sweet and holy 

calm, 
As if upon our wounded heart an Angel dropped a 

balm; 
No impure feeling, wish, or thought, could in our 

hearts be found. 
Because a heavenly visitant had made it hallowed 

ground ; 
And O ! the odor of that scene, — it was not driven 

away. 
But floated sweetly in our hearts for many and many 

a day. 

Ah ! no one knows but he who tries what heavenly 
fruitage springs 

From sitting down to meditate on high and holy 
things ; 

And every moment wisely spent will some new treas- 
ure ope, 

To strengthen faith, to brighten joy, and cheer the 
heart of hope. 

And every day and every hour we find some little 

gem, 
To set within and sweetly deck Faith's beauteous 

diadem : 



OUR CHARLIE. 333 

And though revealed in Heaven's own tome for mor- 
tals to receive, 

And all are left without excuse who dare to disbe- 
lieve, — 

It aids the most undoubting faith when there is that 
will show, 

'Tis backed and aided by a truth we understand and 
know. 

'Tis God's command to all the world to keep His 
Sabbath-day, 

And every one who loves his Lord will cheerfully 
obey ; 

But when he finds that man and beast have natures 
suited best. 

Where one in seven, no more, no less, is made a day 
of rest, 

The good will feel an added thrill of reverence for 
the day. 

And with devouter, gladder hearts, the sweet com- 
mand obey. 

And so from all the gleams of light that meet us as 

we go. 
And all the truths already learned and all we come 

to know. 
And all the aid and all the light analogy supplies, 



334 OUR CHARLIE. 

And all imagination gets from earth and sea and 

skies, — 
And most of all and best of all, the noon-day sun- 
shine there, 
That gathers round the human soul that seeks the 

place of prayer, — 
From all these sources we can draw, and never need 

to fail 
Of giving Faith's pure eye a power to look beyond 

the veil ; 
And seeing Paradise so plain, no doubts or fears could 

scathe. 
And we've fruition almost here instead of wavering 

faith. 

O ! when our dear ones flee away to be with us no 
more. 

And all the rites that we can pay to sacred dust 
are o'er. 

And we return subdued and sad to our once cheer- 
ful home, — 

But now the saddest, gloomiest spot beneath the 
starry dome, — 

There's nothing but the Christian's hope can shed a 
ray of light. 

There's nothing else but trust in God can make us 
feel 'tis right ; 



OUR CHARLIE. 335 

And liope and trust and every help the mourner can 

employ 
Can scarcely give the wounded heart a genuine feast 

of joj ; 

And time must shed its healing balm in gentle dew- 
drops down, 

Before the sorrow change to joy or cross become a 
crown. 

'Tis sweet that there's so many a source to which 

we've power to go, 
For that which takes full many a pang away from 

want and woe ; 
And if to every furnished source we heartily re- 
pair, 
And pick up every little thing to weave to gladness 

there. 
We all should gain, whoe'er we be, the greatest or 

the least. 
The crumbs of comfort quite enough to make a royal 

feast, 
And home itself would beam with bliss, although one 

tie is riven. 
That God should take its little one to be with Him 

in Heaven. 



333 OUR CHARLIE. 



THE PRAYER. 

O Thou who didst the fiat speak and out of chaos 
sprung 

This beauteous earth, so nicely poised and in mid- 
ether hung, 

And at whose word the breath of Hfe through inert 
matter ran. 

And waked its atoms into life all marshalled into 
man, — 

To Thee we come, before Thee bow, and towards 
Thee lift the soul. 

For Thou who mad'st the Universe canst all its parts 
control. 

With two petitions we have come, they're all we 
bring to-day, — 

Grant us, O Lord, a listening ear, and hear us while 
we pray : 

O ! give us power to fathom what Thy providences 
teach, 

And grace to study what they mean and practice 
what they preach. 

That when we take the cup of joy or feel the chas- 
tening rod, 

We may be drawn with purer joy and warmer love 
to God, — 



OUR CHARLIE. 337 

Then though our eyes are daily wet, such ties were 

rent in twain, 
The smile shall glitter 'mongst the tears to think of 

Charlie's gain. 



WHAT IS A SPIRIT? 

What is a spirit? sighs the soul that finds dear 
friends are riven. 

And tries to look beyond the vail and see them safe 
in Heaven ; 

But O ! from wit's profoundest depth and fancy's loft- 
iest height, 

No answer comes to tell it what or shed a ray of 
lidit. 

) 

•There's many a Plato who has tried, since time its 

course began. 
To give a definition which should tell us what is 

man ; 
But never has a sage or seer, although he did his 

best. 
Succeeded yet in giving one that stood the final test. 
To tell exactly what is man, we must define the 

whole, — 
Not only what the body is, but also what the soul : 



338 • OUR CHARLIE. 

And though we feel we know so well the bodies that 

we wear, 
I think we understand as well the spirits that we 

bear. 
Life is a mystery to ourselves e'en in our earthly 

home, 
There is no greater mystery in the spirit's life to 

come ; 
If spirits here not only live, but vitalize dead clay. 
And bear it round where'er they list until their 

dying day, 
Is it more strange that they can live without that 

weary load. 
When wafted upon new-born wings to their divine 

abode ? 
But although what we then shall be may now be 

dark and dim. 
No matter if, when we aw^ake, we wake to be like- 

Hun. 
But still we puzzle o'er the thought how spirits, when 

above. 
Appear and act and talk and think and see and live 

and move ; 
My humble Muse presumes to think that in their 

higher sphere 
They are and act exactly as they were and acted 

here. 



OUR CHARLIE. 339 

The difference being but this, methinks : a spirit here, 

though pure. 
Must fight its way and win the day or never be 

secure, — 
But there, where nothing gross or vile can ever- 
more annoy, 
»Whate'er they do or think or feel are elements of 
joy; 

The house it lives in here below claims many a 

thought and care. 
Sometimes it needs a new costume, sometimes it 

needs repair, — 
But there^ no house demands its care, and in its high 

employ 
There's nothing that can block its way to truth and 

love and joy. 

Were not existence everywhere mysterious through 

and through, 
'T would seem far less how spirits live than soul and 

body do ; 
The spirit is the vital thing, the body inert clay, 
Which that must vitalize or this can never live a 

day, 
And half the wonder seems to cease, when, from the 

body free. 
The vital spirit lives in its own immortality. 



L 



340 OUR CHARLIE. 

! when we ope the pearly gate, on golden hinges 

hung, 
And enter into Paradise and join the happy throng, 

1 do not think that higher life within that home of 

bliss 
Will seem to us so new or strange or different from 

this, — 
The spirit there will feel the same as in its earthly 

lot, 
'Twill feel that its suiTOundings change, but that itself 

does not ; 
And when it moves or looks or learns or acts, — 

whichever one, — 
Volition sends the fiat out and lo ! the work is done. 
And if that spirit while on earth were thrilled with 

Christian love. 
It finds the things that cheered it here are cheering 

it above ; 
When Paysons and when Judsons mount to yonder 

world of bliss. 
They find their happiness the same as they enjoyed 

in this ; 
And Heaven's employs as well as joys are just the 

same as they 
Had been pursuing in this world for many and many 

a day. 



OUR CHARLIE. 341 



HOW DOES A SPIRIT LOOK? 

How shall we in the spirit land, when made im- 
mortal, look? 

It is not writ on Nature's page nor in God's errles 
book; 

But I've no doubt, to spirits' eyes, our spirits will 
appear, 

The very same that we appeared to eyes that saw 
us here ; 

And, therefore, those who knew us here will recog- 
nize us there, 

For just the lineaments we wore when upon earth, 
we'll wear. 

And if w^e've doubts of some we knew or sometimes 
wholly err. 

It is because they seemed below not what they really 
were, — 

But in that clear and piercing light to clear and 
piercing eyes. 

To seem and be are synonymes where no distinction 
lies ; 

But as, on earth, resemblances full oft the vision 
strike. 

That show the wearer one we knew or one exceed- 
ing like. 



342. OUR CHARLIE. 

We watch his motions, features, airs, and tones and 

accents long 
Before we're fully satisfied that we are right or 

wrong, — 
So in the spirit land, methinks, the happy beings 

know. 
Full often at a single glance the ones they knew 

below ; 
But oftener far a single glance suffices not to prove. 
That 'tis or is not one they knew whom they behold 

above, — 
And so they have to look and watch again, again, 

again. 
Before the truth like sunlight breaks and makes the 

matter plain. 
Sometimes they see earth's poorest ones on highest 

seats above, 
And earth's elite on humbler seats at Heaven's pure 

feast of love ; 
And thousands there they often find whom they had 

never thouo;ht 
Of seeing there among the blest in that delightful 

spot ; 
And thousands they expected there are sought, but 

never found. 
Among the pure and lofty ones within that hallowed 

ground. 



OUR CHARLIE. 343 

The deathless spirit here below with all its sins for- 
given, 

Is just the same as it will be when safe arrived in 
Heaven ; 

Whate'er it likes, whate'er dislikes of earthly mora 
fare, 

'Twill like or dislike, just as here, those very viands 
there, — 

For earthly bliss and heavenly bliss must one in 
essence be. 

They're not diverse at all in kind, but only in 
degree. 

O ! yes, methinks, this world of ours and that which 

is to come, 
Are only different rooms within our Heavenly 

Father's home ; 
In this there are unnumbered foes assaulting every 

day. 
And he that would securely live must watch as well 

as pray; 
In that there never lurks a foe to injure or annoy, 
But work is play, and watching rest, and prayer is 

praise and joy ; 
In this, among the vile and gross, the spirit, though 

a saint's, 



344 OUR CHARLIE. 

Like some rich gem, a casket needs, to keep it from 

attaints ; 
In that, the casket's thrown away, for one might 

look in vain 
For anything within that realm to mangle, scar, or 

stain. 

LIFE NEVER ENDS. 

'Tis sweet to think that life begmi can never, never 

end. 
Surpassing sweet, if we but make the One who gave, 

our friend. 
When we have passed om* lives below and we are 

done with time. 
And we are borne from earth, our home, within a 

foreign clime, 
It is not on a stranger land that we are rudely 

thrown. 
Where people, language, customs, laws, are novel 

and unknown, — 
Where life, by violence, turned awry, must in new 

channels flow, 
And every sweet pursuit must cease that we began 

below ; 
But on a bright and balmy land, a sweet and sunny 

shore. 



OUR CHARLIE. 345 

Which we had read and thought about and visited 
before, — 

Whose language we had studied here, whose customs 
we had learned, 

And whose pursuits and feasts of bliss we had by 
faith discerned, 

And all its bright inhabitants we long had learned 
to know, 

For some we'd heard and read about and some we 
knew below ; 

Some were our neighbors, kindred, friends, our chil- 
dren, husbands, wives. 

And now we meet to part no more, but live immor- 
tal lives. 

O ! when we mount, at God's command, above yon 
starry dome. 

And enter into Paradise, we all shall feel at home; 

The friends that knew shall know us there and wel- 
come us above. 

And those we knew not, knit to us in bonds of 
warmest love, — 

And long as long eternity through endless years 
extends. 

We shall be sweUing every hour the number of our 
friends. 



346 OUR CHARLIE. 



THE CHRISTIAN'S PATMOS. 

The hearty Christian, while he lives on earth's dim 

homestead even, 
Finds many a Patmos where he goes and gazes into 

Heaven, 
And if, with those inspirings fired, the Heavenly 

spirit gives, 
'Twill be the faithful portraiture that in the bosom 

lives. 
And when he enters Paradise and walks the sweet 

parterre. 
He'll find the essence of it all upon his canvas — 

there. 

Tne artist on the landscape looks until his bosom 

fires. 
And with its inspiration full, he to his home retires, 
And in his cluttered studio, among his works of 

taste. 
That landscape on his canvas lives, all true to 

Nature traced. 
Not every ruin, hill, and tower, and shrub, and flower, 

and tree. 
That we upon the landscape saw, we on the canvas 

see ; 



OUR CHARLIE. 347 

And yet so like the landscape and its portraiture 

appear 
That he who'd ever seen the first would recognize it 

here. 
So, when the contemplative soul, that thrills with 

heavenly love, 
Looks from his Patmos here below to Paradise 

above, 
He takes upon his heart of hearts daguerreotypes of 

Heaven, 
And breathes its spirit fresh and warm within the 

portrait given, — 
And when he mounts to Paradise and walks its 

flowery shore, 
A single glance attests the fact, — he's seen the place 

before ; 
And thus the pure in heart may have, wherever 

they may go. 
E'en while within this vale of tears, a genuine 

Heaven below ; 
For he who seeks the truth to know, and seeks it at 

the fount. 
Will, like the Hebrew, always find the pattern on 

the mount. 
And only when he does not ask, or when he asks 

amiss, 
Does he e'er fail to get the true apocalypse of bliss ; 



848 OUR CHARLIE. 

And all we need to reach the skies, howe'er abstruse, 

is given, 
If, when exhausting all our powers, we ask for light 

from Heaven. 



THE PURE IN HEART LIVE ON THE VERY CONFINES 
OF HEAVEN. 

O ! 'tis a sweet, transporting thought, that to the 

pure in heart. 
This earth of ours and yonder Heaven are but an 

inch apart. 
And we can live so near the line betwixt that world 

and this. 
That we can breathe the balmy air and pluck the 

fruits of bliss. 
And if our thoughts and joys and theirs harmoniously 

combine. 
Can talk with those we loved below but just across 

the line, — 
Nay, more than that, can cross the line, our loved 

and lost to meet. 
And rove with them and talk with them along the 

golden street. 

O ! if we never meet again our sainted little boy, 



[ 



OUR CHARLIE. 349 



> Until, in our immortal robes, we're in his home of 

'Twill not be that, by stern decree, we're rudely 

kept apart, 
But that our bosoms do not throb in harmony with 

his heart. 



UPON WHAT MISSIONS DO SPIRITS VISIT EARTH? AND 
HOW DO THEY DISCHARGE THEM? 

When spirits leave their homes of joy and to dim 

earth return, 
It must be on a mission of no trivial concern, 
And we in fancy try to find, surveying one by one, 
Not only what the mission is, but also how 'tis 

done. 
The senses — those mysterious ducts, through which, 

with ceaseless flow. 
Comes all the knowledge that we get of anything 

below — 
Must grapple matter and extract, like Hybla's bees, 

whate'er 
We choose to make, while here below, the deathless 

spirit's fare ; 
And whether gross or vulgar food upon its table 

lies. 



350 OUR CHARLIE. 

Depends upon the soul for which the senses bring 

suppHes ; 
And when the spirit mounts above, unfettered, pure, 

and free, 
And has put on its spotless robes of immortality. 
The breath of odors is not lost, the charms of beauty 

dimmed. 
Nor music's voice is silent where the song of love is 

hymned. 
Nor touch expires where contact is a source of bliss 

and love. 
Nor pure gustation quits the feast at which they sit 

above ; 
And so although the senses die, their pure ethereal 

parts 
Still live, the deathless ministers of gladness to their 

hearts ; 
And when the spirits roam the sky, they're never 

once remiss. 
But ceaselessly are bringing them fresh thrills of 

heavenly bliss ; 
And when they come to visit earth, these ministers 

of love 
Come down and serve the spirits here as sweetly as 

above ; 
And though rude matter fill the world, they never 

fly to this, 



OUR CHARLIE 351 

For one sweet dew-drop of delight to swell their 
cup of bliss. 

The bee sometimes to poisonous plants on merry 

pinions flies, 
And bears its nectared sweetness home upon its yel- 
low thighs, 
And when it seeks the loveliest flower, 'tis not its 

grace attracts. 
But 'tis the unseen nectar that it buries in its wax : 
So, when the spirit comes below among material 

things. 
And flits around from spot to spot upon its airy 

wings, 
*Tis not gross matter, howe'er pure, that lures it to 

the earth. 
But that pure something all unseen that constitutes 

its worth. 

We have to do far coarser work than blessed spirits do. 

We see the bodies of our friends, but not their spirits 
too. 

While they in turn behold our souls as open as the 
day, 

Undimmed by e'en a shadow from their rude uncon- 
scious clay; 

And when our dear ones visit us, their spirit-eyes 
behold 



352 OUR CHARLIE. | 

Not these frail frames, but that bright gem that these 

frail frames enfold ; 
And that we do not see them on their visits from 

the skies, 
Is that we do not cultivate the spirit's keener eyes; 
O ! if we did, how oft our hearts in ecstasy would ■ 

greet 
Our living ones, our happy ones, that we should daily 

meet ! 
We know that truth has richest lore that mind un- 

helped can learn. 
But richer yet, that grace must help or mind can 

ne'er discern. 

If these are facts, how sweet the thought, when dear 

ones are no more. 
Their presence may be palpable and pleasant as 

before, — 
Nay, more, if, in our heart of hearts, the grace of 

God o'erflow. 
We can hold sweeter converse now than when with 

us below. 

O ! thou sweet girl, my first-born child, so early 

summoned home. 
With all the pure in Paradise in fadeless bliss to 

roam, — 



OUR CHARLIE. 353 

And tliou, companion of my youth, who, when thy 

Avork was done, 
Didst fly with joy to that same Heaven to join the 

Httle one, — 
And thou, dear Httle blue-eyed boy, too pure and 

sweet and good 
To spend e'en six short fleeting years this side the 

swelling flood, — 
Ye are not dead, ye are not lost, ye are not absent 

even. 
If I'm but living high enough and near enough to 

Heaven. 

O I yes, kind Heaven is always kind e'en when it 

seems severe, 
A blessing quivers in a sigh and glistens in a tear, 
And, to the one who'll take the boon, a blessing 

trickles down. 
Not only from our Father's smile, but also from his 

frown. 
Our blessings are immortal, if we choose to make 

them so. 
They're ours, not only while we hold, but when we 

let them go; 
A friend in Heaven, if we are wise, will far excel 

in worth, 
EVn while sojourning here below, a thousand friends 

on earth. 

23 



354 OUR CHARLIE. 



O ! may we then, whatever befall, look trustingly- 
above, 

And feel whate'er our Father does He always does 
m love. 

And say with filial confidence that He on yonder 
throne 

Has snatched our dear ones from our breasts to nestle 
in His own ! 



WORCESTER. 

Dear Worcester, city of the vale, the good old Bay 

State's heart, 
If there's a spot most dear to me, of all on earth, 

thou art ; 
The most of all the structure built by study, toil, and 

care. 
That constitutes my humble life is genuine Worcester 

ware ; 
The dear companion of my youth here kindled first 

my hearth. 
Which, though so humble, was to us the brightest 

spot on earth ; 
And when her vigil ceased, and lo ! the vestal took 

her flight, 



f 



OUR CHARLIE. 355 

Her sweet successor came along and kept the fires 
as bright. 

'Twas there our Kttle ones came down ahghting from 

above, 
And filled " sweet home " to running o'er with 

sweetest earthly love. 

Thence flew to Heaven our little one, the first that 
God had given, 

So sweet ! she scarce could be more sweet when safe 
at home in Heaven ; 

And then the black-eyed mother rose to join her in 
the skies. 

As ripe for bliss as one could be, this side of Para- 
dise ; 

And last flew up on cherub wings our little blue-eyed 

The Benjamin of home, sweet home, to realms of 

fadeless joy ; 
And now they're sleeping side by side, within yon 

green retreat. 
Which Worcester skill and Worcester taste have 

made so pure and sweet ; 
And now whene'er I think about my dear domestic 

flock. 
On which I'd built my happiness as on a solid rock, 



85(3 OUR CHARLIE. 

But three are left, the other three, from my fond 

bosom riven, 
Are sleeping in yon verdant vale and praising God 

in Heaven ; 
And now whene'er on Fancy's wing among my flock 

I roam. 
The three bright spots to which I fly, are Worcester, 

Heaven, and home ; 
And when we all bid earth adieu, and dust returns 

to dust. 
And we're all sleeping side by side, as soon or late 

we must ; 
And when we gather, if we may, in mansions in the 

skies. 
And rove among the pleasant scenes that checker 

Paradise ; 
If spirits may a blessing drop on some sweet spot 

below. 
Replete with dear mementoes of events that thrilled 

them so, 
I'm sure we never should forget a blessing to impart. 
The best that we could find in Heaven to Massa- 
chusetts' heart. 



OUR CHARLIE. 357 



DEATH. 

Death! we sometimes call thee wretch, knave, 

demon, monster, fiend. 
And everj loathsome epithet from Hatred's kingdom 

gleaned. 
Because thou tak'st these garments oft' our wearied 

spirits bear. 
That they may wear the glorious robes immortal 

beings wear; 
But when, from Jordan's farther bank, we look across 

the tide. 
And see the monster that we left upon the other 

side, 
Hell seem a Seraph snatching us from sorroAv and 

disease. 
To seek the realms where bliss and health are borne 

on every breeze. 
The Surgeon seems a heartless wretch who flourishes 

his knife. 
So like a stoic 'mong the threads that form the web 

of life ; 
But when, from every throb of pain, the skilful sur- 
geon wakes. 
Full many a throb of rosy health and merry vigor 

breaks ; 



358 OUR CHARLIE. 

The stoic melts to tenderness and sunshine Hghts his 

brow, 
And that same surgeon has become a lovely being 

now. 

O Death ! whate'er thou really art, thou seem'st a 

fiend or friend, 
As vice or virtue sees thee o'er its restless pillow 

bend : 
The grace of God within the heart robs death of 

many a sting, 
And thou dost seem above its bed an angel on the 

wing ; 
But guilt implants unnumbered stings and barbs the 

stings beside, 
And makes thee seem a wretch indeed, the deepest, 

darkest dyed; 
And bad and good in character, at every depth and 

height. 
See death at different angles and in different rays of 

light. 
And so the veteran archer seems, no matter how 

demeaned, 
To be of every grade between the angel and the 

fiend ; 
While at that height, that lofty height, by spotless 

Enoch trod. 



OUR CHARLIE. 359 

The archer never throws a dart, the summons 's served 
by God. 

When these frail frames are racked and torn by 
anguish and disease, 

And skill has no more power to help and earth no 
more to please, 

It does not prove the being fiend, who clips its 
earthly ties, 
t And lets the deathless spirit free to float to Para- 
dise, — 

Nor when, in buoyant health and strength, he calls 
the spirit home, 
I To wing its way to Heaven before disease and an- 
guish come. 

Death's charged with many a cruelty he never ought 

to bear. 
And clothed with many a ghastly look he does not 

really wear. 
The anguish gushing from disease ne'er issues from 

his sting. 
And sickness is the dreadful curse our crimes and 

follies bring. 
He ne'er employs Disease to work with its exhausting 

pangs. 
But takes the victim oft away from his envenomed 

fangs. 



360 OUR CHARLIE, 

And often calls immortals home with all an angel's 

care, 
Before disease has touched their frames or sent its 

venom there ; 
And when age, tottering on its way, has almost 

reached the tomb. 
How kindly Death comes bending o'er and takes the 

old man home ! 

O ! when the sick man writhes upon his bed of 

agony. 
And friendship, round him, feels his pangs almost as 

much as he, — 
When Death steps in, O ! what a change within that 

room appears ! — 
The suiFering's gone, — the groans are hushed, and 

nought is left but tears. 
And every crystal, leaping out, lets in the heart 

relief. 
And carries out, from feeling's fount, a globule of 

its grief. 

O Death ! when stripped of everything that is not 

really thine. 
Thyself and mission both appear enchanting and 

divine. 
And none but they, with moral eyes, abnormal or 

obtuse, 



OUR CHARLIE. 361 

Would call thee monster, or would load thy mission 

with abuse ; 
Thou dost not seem as thou wast wont in days and 

years whilom, 
Ere thou didst come and visit me three times within 

my home, — 
For thouo'h I felt that dearest ties were at those 

visits riven, 
I knew the dear ones thou didst take were taken up 

to Heaven ; 
And whensoe'er I think of thee, I think of those I 

love, 
Not mouldering in the silent tomb, but crowned and 

throned above ; 
For though the tear-drop wet the eye and sorrow 

tlirill the heart. 
To think how very sweet the ties that thou didst 

rend apart ; 
The triumph of my sainted ones, thrilled by that 

touch of thine. 
Makes thee appear angelic and thy mission all divine. 

O ! let us then give Death his due, nor charge upon 

his head 
The ghastly train of loathsome ills that gird the sick 

man's bed ; 
He comes to break the thread of life now grown a 

weary bond. 



362 OUR CHARLIE. 

To throw it over Jordan's stream to knit to life 

beyond ; 
He comes to cut the soul adrift from all its earthly 

ills, 
That it may float away, away among the heavenly 

hnis ; 
He comes to its dim prison of clay and sets the spirit 

free, 
To breathe the air and rove the fields of immor- 
tality ; 
And if, as Nurses take their wards what time they 

deem the best. 
E'en in the midst of sport and play, to seek a bed of 

rest. 
He comes to us in perfect health and kindly bids us 

come. 
While full of hope and full of joy, to our eternal 

home ; 
We, like those wards, may think it hard, but like 

them, at the test, 
Find that the hour the deed was done was e'en for 

us the best. 

O Death ! I do not pray thee haste, nor linger on 

thy way. 
Nor dare, alas ! prescribe for thee the fitting hour or 

day ; 



OUR CHARLIE. 363 

My chief concern shall only be, whene'er thou call'st 

me home, 
To be prepared to say with joy, I come, O Death ! 

I come. 



THE GRANDMOTHERS. 

Dear Charlie, could the memory fail, within your 

home above, 
To recollect a single one you used on earth to love, 
I'm sure 'tis not your dear Grandma who used to 

love you so. 
She's lingering just on Jordan's brink and dearly longs 

to go; 
She loved you much, because she thought her Charlie 

was so smart, 
And had a sweet and pure and kind and warm and 

loving heart ; 
And when she felt that you must die, it pierced her 

bosom through. 
And O ! she wished with all her heart, that she could 

die for you. 
She'll soon be there, dear Charlie, soon, released from 

every care. 
And then she'll seek for you the first of all the 

others there ; 



364 OUR CHARLIE. 

For though there be full many a one she loved as 
well as you, 

Who was as near and dear to her and full of prom- 
ise too, 

I do not doubt, when she is gone and Jordan's stream 
is passed. 

She'll look for you the first of all because you left 
her last. 

m 

Have you forgotten when you went, as you were 

wont to go. 
To see your Grandma and to say, "Dear Grandma, 

how d'ye do ? " 
And when you saw her hands and face, you, in an 

undertone, 
Said softly to the nursery-maid, " How wrinkled she 

has grown ! " 
And then you said as if you felt a little touch of 

shame. 
No matter, Esther, for you know that Grandma's not 

to blame. 
Then you went back and kissed her cheeks and 

looking in her eye. 
You patted both her wrinkled hands, and gently said 

good-by. 
And then as if a load were off too heavy to sustain. 
Your fi'esh unburdened spirit rose on buoyant wing 



OUR CHARLIE. 865 

And off you bounded tlirough the streets, nor ceas'd 

until you'd come, 
And given the magic of your heart to those you 

loved at home. 

You'll not forget that dear Grandma, whose welcome 

Avas so sweet. 
When we went out to visit her within her green 

retreat. 
And although not so near the brink of Jordan's 

stream as she. 
The dear Grandma who lived so near, you daily 

went to see ; 
She yet may cross the stream before the other leaves 

the brink, 
And reunite, 'twixt you and her, the severed golden 

link ; 
She wept, dear boy, when first she heard that you 

and she must part, 
And still your little image bears in her remembering 

heart ; 
She'll, meet you soon, ah ! very soon, on yonder 

fadeless shore. 
To be reknit by ties so strong they'll never sunder 

more ; 
And when we all have passed the stream that you 

so early passed, 



866 OUR CHARLIE. 

And meet witli you and rove with you and talk with 

you at last, 
O ! then how kind the blow will seem that smote 

you in our bowers, 
And O ! how short the time will seem between your 

death and ours ! 
The woe that wrung our bleeding hearts when we 

were rent in twain 
Will make the gladness more intense when we shall 

meet again. 
There'll be no wrinkles on the hands of reverend 

age as now, 
There'll be no furrows on the face that time has 

dared to plough ; 
There'll be no film to veil the eye nor bar to block 

the ear. 
Nor any weak and tottering limbs as we behold 

them here ; 
But all that reach that happy place, whatever here 

they be, 
Will waken with His likeness that is sweetly worn 

by thee. 

But why do I attempt to teach my little Charlie, 

who 
Knows more about the spirit land than all earth's 

sages do ? 



OUR CHARLIE. 867 

But God has told us in that world where joys eter- 
nal spring, 

There'll be no blot or wrinkle there or any kindred 
thing ; 

And since we cannot hear thee tell how things 
celestial be, 

It does our hearts good oftentimes to try to talk 
with thee. 



OUR PHYSICIAN. 

I LOVE not that physician, though an expert in his 

art, 
Who only has a cultured head and not a feeling 

heart ; 
There's quite enough surrounds the sick to make the 

bosom sad, 
Without a doctor's boorishness and sullenness to add. 
When Friendship sees its dearest ones on beds of 

anguish lie. 
And asks the surgeon every hour if they will live or 

die, 
'Tis pleasant if a kindly word is spoken that reveals. 
That, if he thinks we're acting weak, he has a heart 

that feels. 
And such was ours, and such is ours, intensely 

trained and taught, 



368 OUR CHARLIE. 

Not only in affliction's school, but in tlie school of 

thought. 
His three bright boys, the first a youth, and standing 

just before 
The well-known threshold that is passed on entering 

manhood's door. 
And two bright lads but just this side the pleasant 

moment, when 
They too should pass the boundary line betwixt them 

and young men, — 
All these at one fell swoop were plunged beneath 

destruction's surge. 
By that disease that, in om' land, is childhood's 

dreadest scourge ; 
And now they're sleeping side by side, in slumber, 

O ! how sweet ! 
Within three consecrated beds in Greenwood's green 

retreat ; 
And now, whene'er to childhood's bed he goes to 

bring relief, 
He lives these scenes all o'er again and feels anew 

his grief; 
And when fond love bends o'er its child for weary 

nights and days. 
And asks a thousand silly things a thousand different 

ways. 
He bears with weakness, and if safe, he drops a 

word to cheer, 



OUR CHARLIE. 369 

But if he must, he tells the worst, but tells it with 
a tear. 

Ah me ! if human care and skill had had the power 

to save, 
Our CharHe would not be to-day reposing in his grave ; 
That little spirit sweet and pure with earth's fond 

ties unriven 
Would be not making Heaven his home, but making 

home a heaven. 

Ah ! Doctor, we have ne'er forgot how, in the sum- 
mer heat. 

Although ill health required that you should seek 
some cool retreat. 

You staid and staid and watched his health in every 
light and shade. 

To see if aught within your power could comfort, 
cure, or aid; 

And sometimes at the midnight hour, the time to 
solace cares, 

We heard your feathery footfalls tap upon the cham- 
ber stairs. 

And then you said that being awake, — you scarcely 
knew the cause, — 

You'd step around the corner here and see how 
Charlie was. 

24 



370 OUR CHARLIE. 

Alas ! we understood it all, and felt the proof it 

gave, 
That we, erelong, must go and stand at little Char- 
lie's grave ; 
But yet your kindness, though it made our bleeding 

bosoms smart. 
Will live forever and be shrined in our remembering 

heart ; 
And when your care and skill had failed and you 

could do no more. 
And he had closed his mild blue eyes and sailed to 

yonder shore. 
The last sweet token that you gave how much your 

heart was here. 
We saw come quivering from your eye, — it was a 

crystal tear. 



THE VOLUNTEER WATCHER. 

There was an angel daily came with soft and care- 
ful tread, 

And hovered round the cherub boy upon his restless 
bed, 

And night and day, as sure as air to fill a vacuum 
stirs. 



OUR CHARLIE. 371 

Whene'er the mother's vigil failed, the substitute was 

hers ; 
And tlioua;h no ties of kith and kin attracted to our 

home, 
The holier ties of sympathy compelled her heart to 

come, — 
Scarce willino; that another's hand should aid the 

little boy. 
Because she thought a stranger face might vex him 

or annoy ; 
And sleep or rest were quite forgot or their demands 

denied. 
While bendino; o'er his restless couch at little Char- 

lie's side. 

Ah ! Lady, there are hearts that keep these mem- 
ories fresh and new, 

And warmly throb with heartiest prayers alike for 
yours and you, — 

For could the kindest care secure what often it 
secures. 

Our little one had sure been saved by such sweet 
care as yours ; 

And there's a pair of mild blue eyes now lighted up 
above. 

That daily turn their gaze on you with all a cherub's 
love ; 



372 OUR CHARLIE. 

And there's a pure and spotless heart within the 
realms of joy, 

Among whose vital threads are wrought your kind- 
ness to our boy. 

Your sainted father knows it all, for, with celestial 
art, 

He reads your kindness written in our little Charlie's 
heart. 

And feels intenser thrills of bliss since he can see so 
plain 

His care to train your heart aright was not applied 
in vain. 



THE FUNERAL. 

The sable hearse came rumbling o'er the pavements 

to the door. 
And carriages, with sober steeds, were standing there 

before ; 
And friends had gathered in the rooms with serious 

mien and air, 
As if they felt in all its force that death was really 

there. 
And then the pastor of the flock — within whose 

warm embrace. 
We'd found for many and many a day a sweet, warm 

resting-place ; 



OUR CHARLIE. 373 

And wliere, witli faith as sweet and pure as burned 

in Abraham, 
Among the flock our httle boy had been a fairy 

lamb — 
Took up the Book and opened it, and from its pages 

read 
Sweet thoughts the spirit dropped for those who're 

mourning for the dead ; 
And then he hfted heart and voice to Httle Charlie's 

God, 
To drop a blessing down on us while smarting 'neath 

the rod ; 
And then we took his body up, a precious, precious 

freight. 
And carried it away to sleep within its native State. 

'Twas where, within yon hallowed grove, in richest 
verdure dressed. 

The wicked cease from troubling and the weary are 
at rest ; 

We stood with sympathizing friends beside our Char- 
lie's bier. 

To take our last, fond, farewell look and shed the 
parting tear. 

The youthful pastor once our own, kind, studious, 
and devout, — 

Whom Charlie never once forgot and loved to talk 
about, — 



874 OUR CHARLIE. 

Was there beside us with a heart almost as sad as 

ours, 
That death had come and nipped a bud in our do- 
mestic bowers. 
And then he calmly oped the Book that heavenly 

love had given, 
That tells us of a future life for all the good in 

Heaven ; 
And there beneath that open sky and on that verdant 

sod, 
He lifted his petitions up commending us to God. 
Our Charlie needed not his prayers, for lo ! in fields 

above, 
He'd liohted and was rovino- now where all is bliss 

and love. 
Then towards that little sleeping boy the sympathetic 

drew. 
And gazed upon his angel face and looked their last 

adieu, 
And left him to the stricken ones who felt the 

keenest smart. 
Because the ties of heart and home were rudely torn 

apart. 
And as we bent above our boy with grief we could 

not hide. 
And felt how very sweet 'twould be to slumber at 

his side. 



OUR CHARLIE. 375 

The fleecy clouds above our heads, too thiu for 

copious showers, 
Looked do^^Ti as if they pitied us and mingled tears 

with ours ; 
And then we gazed and then we wept, and till the 

scene was past. 
We could not feel that farewell look would really be 

the last ; 
And then the dear heart-stricken one, within whose 

fond embrace 
The little fellow, all through life, had found the 

sweetest place. 
Put three pure lilies, white as snow upon a moun- 
tain's crest. 
Within his little tiny hands that rested on his breast ; 
And then we left him sound asleep unruffled by a 

care. 
With this fond hope that we some day should sleep 

beside him there. 



THE CONCLUSION. 

Deau Charlie, I have done my task, nay, I'll not 

call it task, 
'Twas a sweet duty ft'om the first, my heart began 

to ask ; 



376 OUR CHARLIE. 

I could not bear to think a boy that such sweet 

promise gave, 
Should die so youiig and then lie down forgotten in 

the grave ; 
I could not bear that death should come and ruth- 
lessly destroy, 
Nor leave behind, except at home, memorials of my 

boy. 
Perhaps I should have done my task in other ways 

than song. 
Perhaps I have not sung enough, perhaps I've sung 

too long; 
But since but few will read the book, and few of 

these but those 
Who've passed, alas ! through kindred scenes and 

suffered kindred woes, — 
With howe'er little skill and power I may have done 

my part. 
They'll take, instead, the breathings of a chastened, 

sorrowing heart. 
The critic may the volume read and ridicule my 

views. 
The stoic may the pages scan and cauterize my 

Muse ; 
But ridicule and cautery will reach no heart but 

mine. 
They cannot alter or disturb a single pulse of thine ; 



OUR CHARLIE. 377 

Nor can they, witli their powers combined, my pur- 
pose e'er destroy, 

Of telKng where my book may go about my darhng 
boy. 

A few more years, a few more days or minutes it 

may be. 
Will waft us to the pearly gate to dwell in Heaven 

with thee ; 
And though I cannot even hope an offering poor as 

this 
Will add a single thrill of joy to Charhe's cup of 

of bliss, 
I do not doubt that e'en in Heaven 'twill be a pleas- 
ant thought. 
If I have kept thy pretty name from being quite 

forgot, — 
Or caused thy sweetness like a flower's, when crushed 

in perfect blow. 
To linger lono;er than it would within these bowers 

below. 



CAMBRIDGE: PRINTED BY 



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